


Feral Form

by epkitty



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Confessions, Disfigurement, Disturbing Themes, First Time, M/M, Sexual Content, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-02
Updated: 2011-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:45:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“In each of us, two natures are at war -- the good and the evil.<br/>All our lives, the fight goes on between them, and one of them must conquer.<br/>But in our own hands lies the power to choose -- what we want most to be, we are.”<br/>--R. L. Stevenson</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PROLOGUE (In other words, THE BEGINNING)

**Author's Note:**

> This is heavily inspired by an ATF-verse Mag 7 story that read... oh ten years ago or so. So, if you recognize it, please let me know and I can give credit.

**August, T.A. 3018**

The violent winds battered mercilessly at the Last Homely House, and the forceful rain that pelted the roofs and walls of Imladris thudded like rocks bouncing off the shale shingles and stone walkways. The building seemed to tremble under the force of the late summer storm as thunder and lighting tore at the sky with frightening ferocity.

In the heart of this old safe haven, in the dead of this stormy night, a handful of Elves were gathered. Elladan and Elrohir flanked their guard captain, all three of them soaked to the skin and spattered with mud up to their knees. Captain Palandil spoke, addressing the Lord of Imladris, who sat behind his desk in grey night robes. “...they were massacred!” she continued hotly. “Torn limb from limb like ragdolls. I’ve never seen anything like it. And the others... were just gone. No sign. As if they disappeared.”

Glorfindel, from his position standing at Elrond’s right hand, regarded Palandil with a fiercely contemplative and concerned expression. His voice was low and weary. “There were no tracks?”

“Nothing could be seen in this storm,” the auburn-haired captain answered, her statement punctuated by a cracking roar of thunder and sharp flash of lightening, briefly illuminating the otherwise dark room, which shook with the force of nature’s fury. In that flare of light, two pinpricks of gold flickered from the corner. Palandil paused, eyeing the storm warily through the large windows silhouetting Elrond’s and Glorfindel’s forms. “Any tracks were long since gone.”

“But orcs have been sighted these past months, ever closer to the border,” Elladan reminded them angrily as he stepped forward to address his father. “We cannot just—”

“Thank you, Elladan,” Elrond interrupted, though not unkindly. “I will discuss these findings with my counselors. I want the three of you to go, clean up, and get some rest. We shall speak again in the morning.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Captain Palandil wearily acknowledged with a bow, swiftly imitated by the twins. They left quickly.

“Counselors?”

Glorfindel sighed with worry as he slowly circled round the wide desk to pull up a softly padded chair across from Elrond. “I don’t know what to make of it. Except that there is something out there – more than just orcs – and it needs to be dealt with. At once.”

Elrond’s deep grey gaze was focused on nothing as he absent-mindedly nodded agreement. “Erestor?”

Another burst of lightening infiltrated the room, briefly turning Glorfindel’s gold mane to fire, and highlighting the pale face in the corner, within which sparked those points of gold. Erestor withdrew from the shadows, stepping forward to place himself beside Glorfindel, though he did not sit. His voice was soft and steady, as always, and filled with a growling rumble that was almost lost in the noise of the storm. “I do not think we are dealing with anything other than extremely intelligent and vicious orcs; however, Lord Glorfindel is right. This must be seen to at once.”

Taking his most trusted advisors’ words to heart, Elrond sat a moment in thought. “I do not pretend to know what threat has invaded our land. My R—” he stopped. He sighed. He spoke, “My reach is only so far, and I can sense no more than an evil presence there to our north. Captain Palandil has moved her patrols closer to home under my orders, but I fear the evil will follow this conspicuous retreat.” He sighed and shook his dark head tiredly. “There is naught to be done now; we shall make our plans in the morning.”

Both Elves nodded and Glorfindel stood, the hem of his pale nightgown floating by his calves as he did so. He exchanged a concerned look with his fellow counselor, but Elrond was right. Now was the time for rest. Action would come in the morning. As they turned to take their leave, Elrond spoke. “Erestor, a word?”

Glorfindel watched curiously as the black-haired advisor in his meticulous midnight robes beside him froze in his tracks before slumping resignedly and turning to face the Half-Elf. “Of course, my Lord.”

The golden-haired Elf nodded his goodnights and padded on bare feet out to the marble-floored hall. Shutting the door behind him, Glorfindel made his way through the dark corridors, instinctually avoiding the muddy footsteps before him as he lost himself in weary thought and half-forgotten musings.

***

The air was fresh and wet after the previous evening’s storm, even here in Elrond’s study where the Lord sat in place at his desk, though much more formally attired than he had been the night before. Glorfindel stood opposite him, now in his own blue and grey robes and not allowing the night’s events to hold down his cheery disposition as his animated hands accented his quick tongue. “...and they go unto who knows what end—”

Elrond held up a hand to halt the flow of words. “You have come to a conclusion then?”

“Aye! I would like to put forth a proposal,” Glorfindel suggested hopefully.

“By all means,” Elrond encouraged with a wave of the hand as he leaned back in his chair.

“It’s quite simple: before we can hope to protect our land, we must know what we are protecting it from. Rather than some great force attempting to infiltrate the enemy, I advise sending scouts, just a few, to sneak past their sentries and find out just what is going on in whatever camp or base they’ve established out there.”

Glorfindel came to an abrupt halt, but Elrond could see there was more. “And?” he asked indulgently.

That brilliant smile never faltered as Glorfindel revealed his plans. “I will go alone!”

Elrond grimaced.

“I can handle myself—” he continued.

“Not alone,” Elrond interrupted. It was not a suggestion, but an order.

Broad shoulders slumped for only a moment before Glorfindel perked up again. “A small team, then,” he suggested agreeably.

Blue eyes drifted and Elrond could already see the gears turning. He once more held up a hand to silence his counselor. Glorfindel’s chatter came to a halt mid-word and he stared at his Lord, waiting. “No,” Elrond again denied. “This is not a question of skill, but of safety. You, Glorfindel, will go. And I know just the Elf to partner you with.” The half-Elf let out a very human-sounding sigh and leaned forward with elbows on desk, those piercing grey eyes regarding his friend with sincere concern. “To be honest, the idea that there is some unexplained force out there frightens me, and I want someone at your side who can face that.”

Glorfindel raised a single, fine blond eyebrow. After a moment of silence he asked, “You?”

A grim smile dominated serious, stately features. “No, not me.” Elrond paused, as if unsure whether or not to state his final decision. He looked down to his desk and then up to meet those open blue eyes. He seemed to find whatever he was looking for in that unguarded gaze and decreed, “I want Erestor to go with you.”

Glorfindel’s expression did not change. “I’m sorry?”

“Erestor,” Elrond repeated, understanding the confusion.

Glorfindel, who had leant forward in anticipation of Elrond’s words, now stood up straight, a slightly befuddled expression on that handsome face. He looked away from Elrond to face the silent Elf in the corner.

Erestor acknowledged the attention with a slight bow in Glorfindel’s direction.

Blue eyes flicked back and forth, back and forth, before finally settling on Elrond once more. He stepped forward and, forgetting himself for a moment, sputtered, “You can’t be serious! Erestor – no offense Counselor – is... not a warrior!” he declared with a slight laugh. “You want a hermit who secludes himself in the bowels of the dusty archives to accompany me into enemy territory! That Elf is not fit for battle of any kind! He’s a recluse and a pedant and... and... NOT a warrior!”

Elrond raised a brow with a slight frown. Glorfindel knew that expression. It was the ‘Are you quite finished?’ expression, and the golden-haired lord was all too familiar with it. “Counselor,” Elrond reprimanded with a word.

Glorfindel heaved a heavy sigh at the disappointment in his Lord’s voice, recalling the words that had flowed all too thoughtlessly, as they had a tendency to do. He cast a sheepishly apologetic look to Erestor, who offered a small smirk in return, thin lips quirking in a rare look of friendly camaraderie.

Elrond regained his attention when he spoke, “Erestor is many things: a recluse and a pedant,” he agreed with a smile. “My trusted counselor and a skillful warrior.”

Glorfindel couldn’t prevent another small glance to Erestor, but the Chief Counselor revealed nothing. Glorfindel then eyed Elrond suspiciously, but the Lord of Imladris was quite grave. “You’re serious?”

“Never more so.”

Again did Glorfindel look to Erestor. Golden eyes remained unreadable. A nervous lick to lips preceded Glorfindel’s formal, “I apologize. I never knew…”

Erestor cocked his head and with a wry smile told him, “You never asked.”

Glorfindel bowed his head, in shame, and in deference. “I am sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Erestor said firmly as he finally stepped from his dark corner and into the light of day, though the shadows still seemed to cling to him with his dark robes and raven hair. “We have plans to make.”

***

The three Eldar spent hours in council, discussing options and brainstorming ideas. It was well past noon when they adjourned for a much-needed break and a meal.

Glorfindel watched Elrond make his slow way toward the kitchens only to be caught up by two eager tails of identical height and raiment. The Lord of Gondolin smiled as Elrond’s sons escorted their father toward the lower halls. And the Lord Counselor was about to follow, as he had a thousand times before. But then he turned. Erestor was moving the other way, toward his distant quarters, gliding on silent feet.

Changing his routine for the first time in all his long decades as Counselor, Glorfindel turned to follow the mysterious golden-eyed Elf. “Counselor Erestor, wait up!”

That dark, slender figure halted, but did not turn and Glorfindel wasted no time loping down the hallway until he reached Erestor’s side. That deep rumbling voice murmured, “To what do I owe this honor, Lord Glorfindel?”

“I thought we might take lunch together, Counselor,” Glorfindel explained.

Erestor cast him a darkly suspicious look, and Glorfindel was suddenly reminded of the first time that penetrating gaze met his, when they had collided in the hallways an age ago and he had received the exact same look; the golden-haired Lord had found the oddly colored eyes shocking and frightfully disconcerting – nothing like the way they affected him now. No matter how sarcastic or unfriendly, Glorfindel now found reassurance in those eyes whenever he encountered them. The elongated ears, absurdly high cheekbones, wide nose, and those eagle eyes lent the aloof Counselor an alien appearance uncommon among Elves or Men or any other creatures. At first, his features seemed strange. In fact, they still did, but Glorfindel had long grown used to them, even that sharp gold gaze. But he’d always associated those odd features and long robes and reclusive manner with Erestor the Counselor, the Pedantical Scholar, the Occasionally Eccentric Hermit. It suddenly bothered him that he’d never sought to look any further. To ask.

Glorfindel flashed one of his charming smiles; there was only sincerity and affection in the handsome expression. “I have fruit and bread in my room, what do you say?”

Erestor had spared him but one look and now stared straight ahead as he murmured. “I have no hunger, Lord. I had planned on taking my respite in my room. Alone.”

“As always?” Glorfindel questioned, ignoring the hint. “Are you not lonesome, Counselor, ever ensconced in that attic room with nothing but your books for company? You do not attend regular meals, appear even more rarely at feasts. I see you at Council, and that is all and even then you do but hover ominously in the corners; you cannot tell me you are not lonely.”

Glorfindel halted when Erestor did. The dark-haired Elf turned to him. “I am not lonely.” He continued walking.

“Counselor!” Glorfindel skipped to catch up. “I find that I do not want to be alone. Would you indulge me with your company?”

“I am not hungry,” Erestor reminded him.

They walked in silence as Glorfindel thought. Then, he perkily announced, “Neither am I! But I am filled with energy after spending the morning in conference. I shall go to the Pit. And now that I know you to be a warrior as well, I would ask you to spar with me!”

Erestor continued walking and Glorfindel wondered for many moments if his most polite inquiry would be ignored. Eventually, Erestor spoke. Again, Glorfindel’s memory took him back to a foolish collision in the halls of Imladris. That same voice had addressed him then, a strange voice to match the strange face. A rich rumbling tone with a bit of a growl in it. Not aggressive, but low and rough just the same. Not like an Elf. Those words came back to him now, remembering how Erestor had instinctively grabbed his arm to keep him from tumbling down. Golden eyes had unflinchingly met his. ‘Ah, and you must be the... energetic... Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin, whom I have heard so much about. It’s nice to finally run into you.’

So caught up was he in reminiscence that Glorfindel almost missed Erestor’s answer.

Erestor’s eyes were firmly trained on the marble floor, but his rough voice was low and almost friendly. “And why should I agree to dirty myself in the Pit for your amusement?”

“No amusement, Counselor,” Glorfindel argued, all seriousness now. “If we’re to work together, go up to the north together, fight together, then I ought to know your skills. And you mine! Strengths. Weaknesses. So that we may work and move as one, should the need arise.”

Erestor halted, and this time when he turned to face his companion, a trace of a smile lit the pale face, turning up the corners of thin lips. “I accept your challenge.”


	2. CHAPTER THE FIRST: THE PIT

In a valley, hidden by magic and time, stood the Last Homely House west of the Misty Mountains. This House was, in all rights, a community of its own, and had been so well-constructed with respect to nature that it appeared to have grown in amongst the trees and waters, with numerous houses and buildings connected by bridges and stone walkways tucked between gardens and arbors and orchards. Behind this dwelling – which was in itself a marvel full of endless nooks and crannies to explore – were the stables, in which were housed the finest horses that side of the mountains. Alongside the stable was a large armory, larger than one might think was needed in such a carefully hidden and protected place as Imladris. And behind the House and the gardens and the armory and the stables, was a pit.

The Pit hadn’t always existed there in Rivendell, but Elves were warriors as often as healers or craftsmen or scholars, and these Warrior Elves desired a place to practice their craft and release their energies, even in times of peace. So, out of sight of the House and just beyond the horses, the old meadow had soon been worn down to nothing but dirt in a thirty-foot radius where soldiers and weapon smiths and warriors of old could practice. So many centuries had this very spot been tramped and pounded and bruised by the warriors who had claimed it, that the earth had been beaten down into a bowl shape in the ground. Now, this soil was hard as stone, trampled to an almost level surface ten feet down, sixty feet across, reached by a ramp of earth and rock by the Elves who returned here day after day, year after year.

Old warriors sparred here. Young ones learned their lessons. By both it had been named the Pit. And challenges were not taken lightly.

Glorfindel trotted down the steep ramp, sword in hand. His robes had been traded in for simple trousers and shirt. He tramped across the ground that had been turned to mud in the storm and almost dried throughout the course of the day, excess water having long drained though the grate that had been built at the bottom of the Pit countless years ago.

He waited many minutes, ignorant to how the high sun turned loose blonde tresses to a cascade of spun gold that tumbled down his shoulders, or the way blue eyes flashed with brilliance and vivid life at all the world around him.

When Erestor made no appearance, the Lord of Gondolin took a stance and went through the motions that had been taught him three ages ago. The movements were natural; the rhythm, ingrained. Like to a dance, step followed step, thrust followed parry, and it was so familiar, so habitual, he felt he might lose himself in the routine: the dance-like sequence that spelled death for any enemy.

“Your skills are most impressive, Lord Glorfindel.”

Caught unawares, the ancient Elf gasped and turned, hair becoming a mane that flared out like a fan behind him as he spun. Looking up, blue eyes beheld his opponent, silhouetted by the yellow sun at the top of that earth and stone ramp.

Erestor descended as gracefully as he did everything else, long robes trailing in the dirt. A few slender braids held back the hair from his temples instead of his mithril circlet of office and a light sword was held loosely in one hand, but that was the only difference in appearance.

Glorfindel stared a moment, inexplicably distressed by the presence of that sword in a hand he had only ever seen holding quill or book. Temperance forgotten, Glorfindel blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “Your robes will get dirty.”

Erestor gave him an odd look, but then, perhaps it had been an odd thing to say. The dark Elf looked down as if to examine those midnight blue robes lined in a deep sepia. “I seem to have an unnecessary abundance of robes. One ruined set means little.”

Glorfindel made no answer, though wondered if perhaps Erestor had nothing but robes in his entire wardrobe; he could never recall seeing him in anything else. The Lord Counselor considered offering something of his own to spar in, but he instinctively knew such an offer would be refused. Instead he looked to the weapon his partner carried. “That sword is from the armory,” he stated, maintaining his superb ability of stating the obvious.

Erestor lifted the sword and the sunlight glinted along the folded blade as he examined it. He held it aloft, sighting along the edge. “It is a well-balanced and cared-for weapon.”

“But it is not yours.”

“No,” Erestor agreed, obviously not going to answer the unasked question.

A tense moment of silence hung between them until Glorfindel laughed it away with a light chuckle. “Enough talk; let us answer this challenge.”

“Indeed,” Erestor willingly agreed. “But before we begin, I should tell you...” he stopped.

“Yes?”

Faltering, Erestor looked uncertain, and Glorfindel was worried, never having seen the Counselor distressed in any way before.

“I, uh... I have not held a sword in many years.”

Smiling, Glorfindel answered, “Then I shall take special care not to harm you.”

Erestor only nodded. He stood up straight and bowed as Glorfindel did the same. The dark Elf took a deep breath and assumed a protective stance.

Glorfindel frowned at the defensive position, taking up a more aggressive one of his own.

For a moment, both figures held still as stone, the only movement in the swaying of loose garments and black and gold hair in the slight breeze that found its way into the Pit.

Then Glorfindel charged. The habit was as normal to him as eating and he found little challenge to attack and push back his combatant. But if Erestor had to make an effort to block him, then it did not show. The Counselor’s movements were fluidly economic, more so even than Glorfindel’s age-old rhythm of assault.

Thusly they circled, Erestor falling back as Glorfindel advanced, the clash of mithril on steel clanging dully within the soil-packed Pit. To Glorfindel’s surprise, he found that the faster he attacked, the more proficient his partner became in mere moments, soon daring to attempt his own weak attacks, which quickly grew more adept and dangerous as they progressed.

Erestor’s style was unpredictable and remarkably similar to Elrond’s. Random attacks targeted his arm, his stomach, leg, neck, torso— Glorfindel felt as though he were dancing, trying to avoid that hazardous sword tip.

In response, the Elf Lord varied his own attacks, aiming for the legs when he ducked, the exposed left arm when he swiveled to his own right. As he continued this, he noticed the fault in Erestor’s stance: his left side was exposed since he did not shift back quite far enough to properly align himself.

Taking advantage of this flaw, Glorfindel again dodged a swiping thrust, but unexpectedly moved forward as he did so, tapping Erestor’s left arm with the flat of his blade.

Immediately, the swordsmen each stepped back as Erestor said, “Ah good, hit acknowledged.” They bowed.

“You have some skill with a blade,” Glorfindel praised, “But I can see your weapon is not the sword. Your knives, why do you not use them?”

Erestor thought for a moment, his head cocked to the side: a familiar gesture. He responded, “The sword is for sparring. When I use my knives, I mean business.”

Glorfindel chuckled appreciatively. “I should dearly like to see that!”

Erestor only nodded. Then, resuming his defensive stance with the sword low, he asked, “Again?”

Glorfindel smiled.

***

The rest of that evening was spent in Council, and after a short night’s rest, they met again the next morning: Erestor, Glorfindel, and Elrond, with Captain Palandil coming and going as requested. Glorfindel planned for the worst even as he hoped for the best, and Erestor proved to be a master strategist as their plot began to take form. Elrond still worried about the two of them out in the wilderness amongst an unknown enemy without any nearby aid, but his counselors insisted that they could, “Take care of ourselves just fine, thank you very much!”

Elrond grudgingly agreed.

“Horses?” asked the Lord of Imladris. There had been no mention of horses.

Both his counselors shook their heads and Erestor answered. “Stealth over speed,” he explained in his laconic fashion.

Elrond merely nodded.

***

This time when they adjourned for lunch, Glorfindel wasted no time in trailing Erestor out of the room and skipping alongside the tall Elf down the hall. “So, lunch?”

Erestor opened his mouth to answer.

“Oh, let me guess,” Glorfindel broke in, answering his own question. “You’re not hungry.”

Erestor nodded with a shadow of a smile. “Correct.”

“Fine. I’ll meet you at the Pit in ten minutes!” the golden-haired beauty declared, running ahead to his quarters to change. Behind him, he heard a sigh. Turning again to face his fellow Counselor, Glorfindel called, “And bring your knives!”

Erestor smirked.

***

Glorfindel again found himself to be the first arrived. He ignored the ramp, easily jumping down to land on the floor of the Pit. He leapt like a cat energetically about the Pit, clumsily jabbing his sword at an invisible foe as he shouted his own encouragement. “Ya! Hi-ya!”

A polite patter of applause sounded above him and Glorfindel turned to look up at Erestor, again shrouded in sunlight, creating a halo about his slender form as thin robes billowed in the breeze. “Your technique seems a bit less polished than I recall from yesterday.”

Grinning sheepishly, Glorfindel ducked his head as he dug his sword point into the dirt to lean upon the handle. “I was just playing,” he mumbled, suddenly self-conscious in the presence of the sedate Counselor.

Erestor raised a curious eyebrow, though Glorfindel did not see it. He spoke as he slowly descended. “And what – pray tell – might the renowned Lord of Gondolin have been playing at, by himself, in a Pit hidden behind the House?”

Glorfindel laughed heartily and finally looked up to see Erestor dressed in threadbare brown robes fraying at the hems. “I was fighting a great Balrog! Could you not tell?”

Erestor smiled in response. “Only a child or Glorfindel the Balrog-Slayer himself would state such a thing so carelessly.”   
“Well, I’ve right to, have I not?”

“I suppose you do.”

Eyeing the leather strapping that crisscrossed Erestor’s chest, Glorfindel asked, “May I see your weapons?”

Serious again, Erestor somberly reached over his shoulders to unsheathe the white blades. He held them together across his palms to let his friend hunch over to inspect the carefully maintained weapons. He did not touch them. “Odd phrasing,” he murmured of the inscription.

“Yes, Elrond commissioned them to be made for me.”

That was more information than Erestor usually offered and Glorfindel did not push him any further, having learned the Counselor’s limits long ago. He carefully wiped the dirt from the point of his own blade and the two warriors stepped back.

Erestor stared at his partner thoughtfully. “I should tell you...” he offered hesitantly.

“Yes?”

Erestor just sighed and shook his head. “I’ve not had any need for weapons, not in a long time. I am out of practice; watch yourself.”

The Lord Counselor nodded easy agreement with a smile and said, “To be sure!” He wondered what Erestor had really meant to say.

They saluted with a short bow and began.

Glorfindel found himself much disadvantaged, not facing the proficient swordsman of yesterday, but a true master of the knives. The twin blades slashed ever nearer, and he knew more by sound than sight how close they really came. Too close, in his opinion.

This day, it was Glorfindel who found himself taking the defensive position as Erestor swiftly advanced, knives flashing white in the sunlight and ringing shrilly against the mithril of his sword.

Without warning, Glorfindel suddenly found his back to the dirt wall of the Pit. He gasped out a great breath in surprise and had to use all his strength to hold back the single knife pressing inward toward his throat. So focused was he on the proximity of that blade that he had no heed for the other until he heard a snick at his ear as it plunged into the dirt wall.

Glorfindel’s blue eyes were wide as he looked toward his feet where a good six-inch lock of blond hair now lay scattered on the floor. “That could have been your eye,” Erestor calmly told him, and Glorfindel was slightly frightened at the cold distance of that emotionless voice.

“H-hit acknowledged,” he said with a quaver.

Erestor withdrew. He then looked forlornly at the brown earth, upon which lay strands of gold. He knelt to pick up the small clump of hair. Standing, he whispered, “I apologize. It was a terrible thing to do.”

Glorfindel merely shrugged. “I am no vain creature,” he reasoned, absently pulling at the shorter tuft of hair that now ended at his bicep, whereas the rest of his tresses fell to his elbow. “It was a good lesson to remind me of.”

“What lesson?” Erestor asked, gold eyes still fixed on that gold hair in the palm of a pale hand.

Glorfindel smiled. “Expect the unexpected, never underestimate the enemy, and above all, don’t judge a book by its cover.”

Erestor allowed a small smile at that. “Another round?” he asked tentatively.

Glorfindel brightened at once. “Of course!”

***

Another evening in Council, another short night’s rest, another early morning in Elrond’s office. Sitting. Talking. Planning.

Glorfindel pointed to the map. “I still don’t see why they wouldn’t be closer to the Bruinan; they would need a water source no matter who they are.”

Erestor shook his head. “I know you are right, but there is no evidence of pollution in our waters, which there must be if a force of any size was stationed there, orc or otherwise.” He indicated the same place, and then shifted over to a point west of that, closer to the Misty Mountains. “For all we know, their base is in the mountain face itself, making use of those underground water sources, only coming out and closer to Imladris for their missions.”

“Even though the attacks have accelerated in frequency?” asked Elrond.

Erestor nodded as he examined the maps spread out before them. “Yes. In fact, I think that is exactly what they’re doing. There is a base in the Mountain, and smaller camps further out, like a road all the way to Imladris. A point guard would advance to capture Elves, and kill whomever they cannot carry or keep reasonably controlled. No witnesses.”

Glorfindel shook his head sadly, for once glad of Erestor’s calm manner; it seemed to be contagious. “But why? I mean, why capture Elves?”

Erestor turned to face him, sharp gold eyes filled with a promise. “That is exactly what we’re going to find out.”

***

Erestor and Glorfindel moved slowly and silently down the hall, each lost his own thoughts.

“Lunch?”

“Nay.”

“Pit?”

“Ten minutes,” Erestor declared.

“Right.”

***

Glorfindel slid briskly down the ramp, now unsurprised to have been first. He waited a moment before unsheathing the knives he’d brought along, tossing the double scabbard up to the ground outside the Pit. Free of encumbrances, he took the knives in hand, slowly moving through the motions learned long ago.

It was true he preferred the sword, but it was also true that he was equally skilled with knives, bow, and even axe or staff. The knives were not unfamiliar after so long laid aside, but they were not so comforting in his hands as his pure mithril sword.

And this time, when Erestor approached, Glorfindel knew it. It was neither sound nor shadow that gave the dark Elf away, but something entirely unexplainable. Glorfindel simply knew he was there. “Now, we shall be evenly matched, Counselor Erestor.” He turned to face his opponent and even though he could not see the Elf’s features where he was silhouetted at the Pit’s rim, Glorfindel could see the surprise in the set of his form, the stiffness of his back. “Aye, now I know when you are near. That shall be good when we are together in the forest.”

Erestor nodded, stepping lightly down the ramp. “You are, of course, correct. And you may be right about our matched skills. But that has yet to be proven.”

Glorfindel laughed good-naturedly at the challenge. “A match then, a final challenge before our departure tomorrow.”

Erestor nodded, unsheathing his own knives. Wearing the same threadbare robes, Glorfindel had been surprised the Elf moved so easily in something so potentially constricting and obstructive. Today, he vowed to observe everything about his opponent, pertinent or not.

Again, the black hair was mostly loose but for a few braids to keep his sight clear. Gold eyes were unreadable and fairly fierce when he battled in the Pit. His long robes never seemed to interfere with his ability, an ability that must have been both natural and long practiced, flowing easily and swiftly.

And it was at this moment, face to face for the third time in the Pit, that the golden Elf realized that Erestor was a full three inches taller.

“Glorfindel,” Erestor addressed him.

“Yes? Do you have something to say?”

“N-no. No, I do not. Let us begin.”

Glorfindel was concerned about this recurring reticence, but simply agreed, “As you wish.”

They bowed respectfully, and this time when they began, their stances were mirrored. Knives out to the side, knees bent, and incredibly strong wills facing off one against the other.

Glorfindel growled happily through a smile and rumbled, “Let’s do this!”

Erestor charged.

Knives flashed brilliantly in the late afternoon sun – white on white, as dark and light hair shimmered and swirled about their twisting forms. Blue and gold were the unblinking eyes, and their contact never broke as the warriors traded advance for retreat and blow for blow. They picked up speed as they moved, spinning and circling, diving and jumping, attacking and defending in a give and take sequence that could have been a fight to the death between bitter enemies or a fiery dance between passionate lovers.

One pressed forward, and the other was forced away. A change in technique would shift power again. A different stance would take it back. On and on they went, never slowing, and never getting closer to any sort of victory.

Panting at the exertion, Glorfindel began adding kicks and punches into the fight, using any part of his body that could be considered a weapon. Even elbows, when the angle was right, could fumble an oncoming attack.

Erestor was well up to the challenge. Kick for kick, blocks and blows. They had become extensions of their weapons instead of the other way around, and neither fighter was about to give in.

In desperation, the attacks grew bolder and the weapons grew dangerously closer. Still, they moved as one, nearer and nearer the other, relying now on hope as well as skill to gain the desired victory. “Arrggh!!”

Amid some freak occurrence of time and position one leg got wrapped around another as they attempted the same kick, and the Elves went down wound together, landing heavily on the hard packed dirt.

After three days without rain, a cloud of dust rose around the fallen warriors, who lay entangled side by side, knives to one another’s throats and ribs, neither closer than the other.

“If I wasn’t so intent on winning, I’d say we have ourselves a draw,” Glorfindel proclaimed in panting breaths.

“Aye, a draw, and well met,” agreed Erestor.

They were both grinning like schoolboys.

***

Glorfindel slumped in the padded chair, trying rather poorly to disguise his boredom. The sun was just setting and he was looking forward to a good night’s sleep before their departure the next morning. Two dark heads were still bent over maps and charts, Erestor intently pointing with a dry quill along the intended path for what seemed about the hundredth time. Elrond watched carefully, running Erestor through the full gamut of questions. Glorfindel listened to that rough timbre as the Chief Counselor answered evenly in the low, rumbling tone that had become such a soothing sound.

“I believe we are finished,” Erestor finally proclaimed, leaning to rest against the back of his own chair. Glorfindel prevented himself from leaping up in exaltation. Barely.

“If you are sure...”

“Yes, Elrond,” Glorfindel quickly interceded. “Quite sure.”

“Very well,” the Lord of Imladris reluctantly approved. “You have convinced me this will work. But I cannot state how important it is that you take absolutely no unnecessary risks. This is a reconnaissance mission, nothing more. You find out what you need to know and get out of there.”

“We won’t be seen,” Erestor reassured him. It was far from the first time he had done so.

“Elrond, you’re worse than a mother hen,” Glorfindel teased.

“I have to be, with you two.”

Glorfindel laughed, knowing that Elrond knew about their antics in the Pit these last days. Little went on in Imladris that its Lord did not know of. “That’s right; you never know what we’ll get up to.”

Elrond shook his head. “Don’t frighten me,” he joked.

Laughing again, Glorfindel stood. “Of course not. Now, if we’re done here, I say it’s time for bed.”

Two sets of eyes peered up at him, thoughtful grey and frightened gold.

Glorfindel looked with worry between the two. “What?”

Elrond shifted his gaze to a guilty-looking Erestor. The Lord of Imladris raised a brow, asking a silent question, to which Erestor shook his head. If Glorfindel didn’t know better, he might have thought Elrond responded by discreetly rolling his eyes. But then that intense grey stare focused on him and Glorfindel ceased idle thoughts. “Glorfindel, there is a reason I asked Erestor and he alone to accompany you on this mission.”

When he did not clarify, Glorfindel quipped, “Because he’s a warrior?”

“Well yes, but also because he...” Elrond glanced to Erestor.

The dark Elf sighed quietly and then nodded.

Elrond looked to Glorfindel. “Because he is half-Maia.”

Glorfindel stared.

“I’ve seen him take out orcs barehanded,” Elrond told him.

Glorfindel stared.

“His strength is ten times that of yours or mine,” Elrond told him.

Glorfindel stared.

“And if there’s more out there than orcs, I am confident a Balrog-slayer and half-spirit can take care of themselves,” Elrond told him.

Glorfindel stared.

A new voice interrupted, trembling in a rumbled whisper, “Lord Glorfindel?”

Vibrant blue eyes shifted to Erestor, who still sat with head bowed, pale hands clenched tightly in his lap. The golden-haired Elf looked on him in wonder. “I didn’t—”

“You never asked,” Erestor answered out of habit. He still refused to raise those gold eyes. “But Elrond is right: if I am to come with you, you must know all my strengths. And all my weaknesses.”

When Erestor stopped, it was more than apparent that he was done offering information. Elrond continued as Glorfindel slowly regained his seat. “Erestor’s mother was of Noldor blood, but we know little of his Maia heritage. We believe...” but Elrond could not explain it.

Erestor’s rumbling voice was soft. “My father must have been a very wild spirit,” he said by way of explanation. “I see the world in two shades. Sometimes as an Elf, and other times...”

“As Maia?” Glorfindel asked.

After a moment, Erestor nodded. “As a Maia who his very close to his... feral side.”

Glorfindel shook his head, confused.

Abruptly, Erestor stood, dark robes shifting and falling about him. “I cannot do this,” he declared. “Elrond?”

The Lord of Imladris regarded him with understanding. He nodded.

Glorfindel watched curiously as Erestor pivoted and raced for the exit, a wild look in wide gold eyes. At the slam of the door, Glorfindel turned back to Elrond.

The Half-Elf regarded him seriously. “I have discussed this with Erestor. He is willing to trust you with his secret, which I might mention is quite a feat for him. You should be honored.”

Blue eyes blinked.

“But telling you himself is apparently beyond his ability,” Elrond mused, half to himself.

“Telling me what, exactly?”

“Erestor spoke truth. He is of two minds. The Erestor you know – the ever calm, rational Counselor – is only half the creature I know him to be. The other half of him,” Elrond paused, “is wild. Feral. His animal nature is very close to the surface; he hides it well, but,” Elrond shook his head. He stared Glorfindel down, and the Lord Counselor couldn’t help but feel as if he were being tested. “You will be out in the wilderness with him, so you must understand. You must not be frightened of him,” Elrond advised, “but he, like nature itself, should be treated with a great amount of respect. Do not underestimate him.”  Glorfindel thought those words over carefully. “You make him sound dangerous.”

“He is dangerous. If his life is at risk. If his temper is aroused. If a loved one is threatened.” Elrond bowed his head, remembering. “I shall never forget going out scouting once, decades ago. Separated from the group, Erestor and I encountered a band of orcs. I was wounded; I could not fight. We were surrounded and he attempted to keep the creatures at bay. He was skilled, but not skilled enough, and the enemy drew closer. One of them sought to kill me. And that’s when Erestor changed. I remember it so vividly, the look in his eyes... He dropped his knives, and charged. I thought he was mad. He barreled into the beast, growling, snarling. Filled with rage. His pure strength is... amazing. He grabbed the orc’s head, but he didn’t just break its neck. He tore it off.”

Blue eyes widened. “He decapitated an orc with his bare hands?”

Elrond nodded, obviously haunted by what he’d witnessed that day. “He jumped in front of me. Oh, I’d seen him fight before, with economic efficiency and cool detachment, but this: he fought like an animal. Tooth and nail. I saw him—” Elrond cut himself off. He continued in a whisper. “I saw him do things I never thought an Elf could do. I’d known of his heritage; he’d hinted at his abilities. But this was as if he were possessed.” Deep grey eyes were lost in memory. “The screams of the orcs as he slaughtered them, bones snapping under his hands, tendons and muscles tearing from their sockets; I remember it all. The black blood covered him. He was lost in that primal frenzy until every one of them lay massacred beneath his feet. I was never so relieved as when I saw reason return to those lost eyes.”

Glorfindel’s expression contained shock and not a little amount of horror.

“If you meet the enemy, you must know what to expect,” Elrond explained. “And you should also know: just being out of the House and into the wilderness is enough to... affect him. He will be different,” Elrond warned. “Quieter.”

“If that’s at all possible,” Glorfindel snickered.

“He likes to hunt,” Elrond continued. “Do not be surprised if he sets out without weapons and returns with a stag slung over his shoulder, hands caked in blood. He will try to control himself, but the longer he’s out there,” Elrond let Glorfindel draw his own conclusions. “He trusts you,” the Half-Elf suddenly declared. “I am counting on you not to betray that trust.”

Glorfindel closed those brilliant blue eyes, as if he could shut out the world by doing so. He had collided with Erestor in the halls of Imladris centuries before. The dark-haired Elf had always been a mystery, though kind enough in his own subtle way. What Elrond said was true: Erestor seemed the epitome of the perfect scholar. He was a wise Counselor and intelligent tutor. His advice was sound and his words sincere. And now Glorfindel knew him to be an excellent swordsman. How could such a being truly conceal such a large part of himself from the world? From his few friends?

Those half-begun confessions in the Pit; Erestor had tried to tell him. And he had tried again tonight. Why was he so defensive? Perhaps he feared Glorfindel’s reaction. Or perhaps he was ashamed of his own nature. Glorfindel had to admit that he did not know the Elf, the half-spirit, well enough to say.

Blue eyes opened. Elrond was awaiting his response. Glorfindel cleared his throat. “Anything else I should know?”

Elrond leaned back, lacing his fingers and regarding the ceiling with detachment. “Don’t mention his tail,” were the final words of advice.

***

Glorfindel rose long before the sun. He went through the motions of bathing and dressing and packing, but his mind wasn’t on the tasks at hand. The golden-haired Elf had lain in bed many hours before submitting to sleep, and the same thoughts that had plagued him then tumbled through his mind now: thoughts of an aloof Elf with midnight hair and alluring golden eyes.

Alluring?

Glorfindel shrugged. It was early; he was hardly thinking straight.

A glance in the full-length looking glass told him that he was presentable enough in green and grey shirt and trousers that would blend with the forest. Tall black boots were sturdy but light. Leather belt was tied around his waist hung with pouches of various herbs and other necessities. Rucksack held spare pants and wine sacks of miruvor. Blanket was rolled and carefully tied on. Bow and quiver were situated over that. And the mithril sword hung at his hip. White-blond hair was tied away from his face, but hung loose down his back.

Tail? He shook his head. Did Erestor really have a TAIL? What else was he hiding?

Glorfindel allowed himself a final, deep sigh before setting out and closing the door behind him.

His footsteps thudded softly on the marble floor of the hall. Absentmindedly, he made his way through the kitchens, picking up a few apples and slipping them into his pack. He passed through the kitchen door to the vegetable gardens and then the rose arbors. He took a path through the stables, patting a familiar white horse on the nose as he did so.

The sun was just cresting the Misty Mountains, rendering the sky a dusky reddish blue as he exited the stables and approached the Pit. But this time, Erestor had preceded him. Glorfindel stopped short at the sight.

Soft cavalier boots led up well-defined calves where skin-tight black-brown leggings hugged muscle-corded thighs. A plain cotton shirt billowed at his arms, but a tight leather vest covered his chest. The criss-cross of leather over his torso held the knives to his back and a thin belt held several pouches and a scimitar-like dagger sheathed at his side. Black hair was a single braid down his back to his waist, making his pointed ears appear even longer. Gold, slanted eyes regarded him warily with thin lips in a straight, emotionless line. “Ready?”

Glorfindel prided himself on not blurting out any ridiculous questions, which he was rather known for. Still, he continued staring a moment at the well-cut figure, a shock after centuries of seeing him in only the most concealing of robes. “...Yeah.”

Erestor glared a moment longer, as if weighing a final decision, before turning around and striding out over the meadow toward the forest.

Mesmerized, Glorfindel watched the long black tail sway back and forth behind him. Short fur the color of that on the Maia-Elf’s head covered the flexible cat-like tail that ended in a furry tuft that flicked back and forth with worry.

Glorfindel followed.


	3. CHAPTER THE SECOND: MISSION

The Lord of Gondolin liked to talk. He liked good wine and good food and good friends. He loved to drink and to eat and to tell stories and to laugh. Anyone who knew him would agree whole-heartedly.

It was not always so, however. Long years before, he had been a sober Lord and a frightful warrior. Then came the battle that made him a legend. Glorfindel the golden-haired had perished in the scorching flames of the most-feared demon of Middle Earth. And then, he was reborn.

Elrond Peredhel, the most skilled healer in perhaps all of Arda, had been about to face the armies of Mordor. Glorfindel had been friend and shield-brother to the Half-Elf, and Elrond knew the forces of good would need that warrior again.

A battle between wakefulness and sleep, between sleep and death, had led the Lord of Imladris on a path to the very doors of Mandos. He had called upon the Valar and all that upheld hope in Arda, Valinor, and beyond to recall to life that one Lord, the golden-haired Balrog Slayer, Glorfindel of Gondolin.

The legend was reborn when Glorfindel returned to life; a new body wholly formed in the bloom of adulthood that mirrored his old body down to the whip-scars of the fiend that had killed him.

And he had stayed at Elrond’s side throughout the Last Alliance, fighting beside the Herald and Gil-galad himself. And throughout all this time, it had been apparent that Glorfindel was... different.

The gold-haired Elf was so intense, absolutely bursting with energy and full of a vivacious life. It was said that the light that now poured from him rivaled the light of Arien herself. He was bright and glorious and everything that was fun and good and bright, sometimes overwhelmingly so.

The previously subdued Lord had returned to them, no different in essentials, but now with a view of life so adventurous and optimistic that few even recognized the seemingly carefree Lord. Glorfindel didn’t have a problem with that.

In the dark hours of the night, he would speak with Elrond and he alone about The Change. He would speak of his former life, full of the fear of an Elf Lord living in the dark times of Middle Earth, all the common worries and threats and doubts that had consumed him. He would speak of that battle, the heat of it, the stench. The fire and sulfur and dark smoky flames that choked his lungs and wrapped him round and boiled him to his very bones. The cutting sting of the whip and the pure evil of the darkness that had surrounded him and dragged him to death. He would speak of the cold stone halls that had greeted him at his passing, full of chill and emptiness. The Halls of Waiting were cold and empty; there was nothing for him in the never-ending passages full of windows that looked back on a wasted life. Others, he said, found some measure of happiness there, with lost loved ones long parted and contentment long desired. But for him had only been a cold solitude filled with the pain of regret. And then, then a white light called him; Elrond stood before him haloed in the light of Elbereth herself and the Valar had blessed him and told him to go. To go. And he had. He had gone home.

He would speak of The Change. Of how he now knew every moment to be a precious gift, every song to be a marvelous treasure, every word every morsel every glass of wine every friend every lover every sunrise every sunset every cool evening breeze every flickering candle every flower every battle every story every clear spring morning every laugh to be a wonder and a most prized fortune that could never be matched by any attainable wealth or honored power.

He was Glorfindel again, reborn full of more life than he had ever dreamed of in his previous existence. And now, nothing would hold him back.

Elrond knew. Elrond understood that.

Everyone else saw the eccentric Lord Glorfindel, full of tricks and flights of fancy and careless energy that would soon lead him to another death.

And so he laughed. And sang and ate and drank and loved. And talked.

***

He talked to Erestor as they walked through the forests of Imladris. Their fast pace encouraged his fast tongue, and he had no fear of being too loud when they were still this close to home.

Erestor did little to encourage him.

But still he talked, of Elrond and of home and of fun and of war and of everything. Everything except the tail.

And when he ran out of things to talk about, he asked questions.

He understood that this could be dangerous, that he might run into guarded territory with his guarded companion. But Glorfindel wasn’t one to hold back. So he asked. “Say, Erestor, how long have you had that outfit?”

“Where are you from, anyway?”

“How old are you?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“What sort of books do you read for fun?”

“Where did you learn to fight?”

“Why do you prefer the knives?”

“What was it like when you met Elrond?”

“Have you ever been in love?”

The answers, when he received them, were brief:

“Since yesterday.”

“Mirkwood.”

“5, 069.”

“...Blue.”

“Mysteries.”

“That’s none of your business, Lord Counselor.”

“Efficiency.”

“Frightening.”

Erestor made no answer to the last question.

***

Sunset came, bruising the horizon to a deep magenta, fluffing the clouds with a purple lining and hazing the atmosphere to a perfect rose. Glorfindel smiled and said with wonder, “Look Erestor, the sky is blushing!”

Erestor made no comment, but Glorfindel watched from the corner of his eye as the sedate Counselor turned his face to the sky, tail twitching happily for a moment as his gold eyes caught the funny colors of the light.

They worked together setting up a small, tidy camp as Glorfindel chattered on. Erestor cleared the open ground of twigs and other flotsam and jetsam as Glorfindel set down his pack, quiver, and bow to collect wood. They were still within the borders of Imladris and the fire would attract no enemies.

Erestor stood abruptly at the finish of his task and spoke more words together than he had all day. “I expect you are hungry. I will find us some meat to cook. I will be back within the hour.”

Glorfindel curiously watched as Erestor cocked his head, long ears pivoted like a deer’s as he closed gold eyes to slits and scented the wind, wide nostrils flaring. He took off with a leap into the brush making hardly a sound.

Blinking, Glorfindel watched the break in the forest. Weird.

But then he remembered. Elrond had warned him. ‘And you should also know: just being out of the House and into the wilderness is enough to... affect him. He will be different, quieter.’

Different was right.

Glorfindel understood. Animalistic, feral. Erestor displayed those qualities now, in a shadowlike way. How he had silently made his way through the forest, tolerating Glorfindel’s prattle. Scenting the air, listening to the wind, those gold eyes seeing everything around him.

Half-Maia. Half-spirit. Half-animal? Glorfindel wondered.

***

True to his word, Erestor returned an hour later, four good-sized rabbits dangling from a clenched fist. He crouched by the fierce little fire, using the dagger to skillfully skin and gut their dinner before spitting them on strong twigs over the open flame.

Glorfindel, suddenly disturbed by Erestor’s soul-deep quiet, did not speak. He merely watched.

Erestor was still hunkered down by the fire; his tail lay at rest along the ground, but for the tip, which flicked rhythmically back and forth like a discontented cat’s tail. Gold eyes stared hungrily at the fire, or rather the rabbits cooking over it. Thin lips were parted, and Glorfindel watched the pink tongue flick out.

“You don’t have to cook yours.”

Erestor jumped at the sound of his voice and looked at him.

“If you don’t want.”

Erestor cocked his head.

“Say something, Counselor; you’re giving me the creeps.”

Erestor looked away. “I apologize, Lord Glorfindel. It is not in my blood to be civilized while out in the wilds.”

“I understand,” Glorfindel said. Even he did not know if it was a lie.

“You are kind,” Erestor told him.

“You don’t usually eat cooked meat, do you?”

A shake of the head. “How did you know?”

“I was just remembering,” Glorfindel shrugged. “You don’t usually sit with us at dinner, and now that I think about it, even then you usually don’t eat much. And what Elrond said...”

“Yes, what Elrond said,” Erestor murmured thoughtfully and reached unthinkingly for the barely heated meat, but then halted. “You don’t mind?” It was a whisper.

Glorfindel smiled. “You do not have to deny your nature, Erestor. Not with me.”

Erestor looked away, and it seemed he might have been blushing. Or perhaps it was just the firelight.

Erestor shyly sat back on his haunches, tail less lively now as he carefully removed short leather bracers from his wrists to roll up the billowy bark-brown sleeves, revealing pale skin over taut muscle.

Long fingers, nails almost clawed, reached for the first rabbit. Glorfindel could not look away. The long fingers, the sharp nails, the strong hand, were illuminated in stark contrast to the darkness around them. He looked at those hands. Callused and weatherworn. Those hands. He should have seen long ago. Those were not a scholar’s hands.

He ripped the stick from the ground and grabbed the rabbit off the stick. Glorfindel watched in horrified wonder as white teeth tore ferociously into the raw meat, blood squirting outward and dripping down his chin and arms. Looking closely, Glorfindel saw the small fangs that had until this moment always remained carefully hidden by controlled expressions. But now, Erestor ignored him completely, chewing down the flesh, tendons, inner organs, and even a few small bones. The blood flowed still and contented little whines issued from Erestor’s throat as he swallowed down his meal. The second rabbit went the way of the first, no less quickly.

A glance of gold eyes regarded him guiltily when he finished, tongue lapping the dark blood from the corners of his mouth.

Glorfindel attempted a reassuring smile. He thought it probably looked more like a grimace.

Erestor rose and again disappeared into the underbrush.

Glorfindel was, for once, glad of the solitude.

***

The dark-haired Elf was gone a long time, long enough for the other two rabbits to cook and Glorfindel to thoughtfully eat them, taking more consideration for his food than he had in a good long while. Oh, he always enjoyed his meals, to be sure, but he found that this whole strange situation with Erestor was forcing him to rethink a lot of things.

He was just laying out his bedroll when Erestor returned, cleansed of his meal and looking shameful.

Glorfindel had little difficulty guessing the problem.

“You don’t have to be so secretive now, Erestor. You can be yourself; you won’t upset me.”

Gold eyes pleadingly met his. The deep rumble asked falteringly, “I don’t disgust you?”

A moment passed in silence.

Glorfindel rose from the ground and circled the small camp to come face to face with his companion. “Disgust me? No, Erestor, never. You are who you are. You do... intrigue me. But you could never disgust me. Shock me, yes. Even frighten me a little at times, but Erestor, I know you. Both the controlled Counselor and the, apparently, feral animal. You can be both with me; you don’t have to choose one or the other.”

Erestor seemed a little overwhelmed at the words, and Glorfindel was fairly certain it was because he had never heard them before, and had probably never expected to. “I don’t know if I can do that. I’ve had to be the Elf for so long, and I was only ever the Other alone in the forest.”

“I have a feeling you’ve been alone for a long time.” Glorfindel smiled and didn’t think twice about taking Erestor in his arms and giving the Elf a big, warm, whole-hearted hug.

Erestor trembled in his hold, but returned it, if a little gracelessly.

Glorfindel finally pulled back to look at Erestor. There was no awkwardness between them. “First watch?”

“I will take it,” Erestor told him.

Glorfindel wasn’t surprised. But then he looked around, just realizing the Elf had brought neither blankets nor clothes nor many other necessities. “Where will you sleep?”  
 Erestor approached a tree and leaned his back against it as he sat, one leg folded along the ground, the other bent into the air: the old warrior’s resting pose. Arms crossed in front of him and Erestor bent his head. “I will hear anyone who approaches,” he said in a small voice.

Glorfindel nodded, slipping off his boots and belt to crawl between his blankets, keeping his sword close to hand. He lay on his stomach, chin resting on folded arms as he curiously regarded his companion.

Erestor’s tail gave a flick of annoyance at the concentrated attention. “What?”

Glorfindel blinked. “Nothing.”

“Lord Counselor...”

“It’s nothing.”

“Glorfindel!” 

 _sigh_ “I was just wondering,” he finally admitted as he stared at those elongated ears. “How do you hear the world around you?”

Erestor looked up, a tilt of the head showing his faint surprise at the question. “You want to know...”

“I know you are half-Maia. You seem to listen more than I do. What is it that you hear?”

Erestor sighed and let his head fall back, black braid shifting over his shoulder as the lively tail finally settled, wrapping itself contentedly about his waist. Gold eyes closed.

“I hear so many things,” he finally admitted, the low rumble an animal-like growl that seemed to fit with the night atmosphere. “The night birds high in the air; wind in the trees; the river; the insects.” He paused. “There is a nest of squirrels five trees to the south. They are chattering softly and rearranging their nest before sleeping. A furlong to the east, three deer are foraging for food. In the north, the border guards are changing patrols. I can hear five of them. Two are going out; the others are staying in to play cards and... dice.”

Glorfindel looked at him with amazement. “How far away are they?”

Erestor cocked his head. “Just under three furlongs. And to the west. In the mountains. There is a pack of wolves.”  Closing his eyes, Glorfindel listened. He could hear the howls, when the wind caught right.

Erestor continued. “A colony of ants is nesting three feet from your bedroll. They shouldn’t bother you. Just don’t move any more to your left. The sap is running quickly in the trees; they like the weather. And your heartbeat is a quiet and steady rhythm, like ocean tides.”

Gold eyes flashed toward him, as if awaiting judgment.

Glorfindel smiled. “Thank you.”

***

Glorfindel awoke at the soft calling of his name. The moon was high in the diamond-dappled dome and he felt refreshed after rest. He crawled to sit upon his bedroll. Erestor bent his head to find repose, and Glorfindel watched the slowly turning sky as he sang to the shimmering stars and the night birds in the trees.

The sweet voice seemed to lull Erestor to sleep until he sat motionless against the tree, chin dropped to his chest, one eye open. Curious, Glorfindel crept closer to peer at the pale creature’s face. Sure enough, one gold eye was open with a hint of consciousness in the sparkling depths while the other remained firmly closed to the night.

Glorfindel wondered at the habit, but returned out of courtesy to his blankets, watching his companion and keeping his ears open to the sounds of the night, alert for any danger.

***

Erestor woke at false dawn, blinking his gold eyes at the starless sky in the east, dark and grey, though the stars still twinkled above them. “Ready to move?” he rumbled.

Glorfindel stood, rolling up his blankets and tying them to his pack before settling it in place over his shoulders with quiver and bow. Erestor efficiently dowsed the glowing embers with wet soil and they departed as Glorfindel sheathed his sword, continuing the north by northeast journey they’d set themselves on.

In short time, they reached the border guards, the very ones Erestor had pointed out the previous night. They were far within the true border of Imladris, but Elrond had judged travel any further north than the Bruinen to be simply too dangerous.

Glorfindel watched with interest as Erestor’s tail wrapped itself around his waist, disappearing up under the shirt and vest. It was not visible, but Glorfindel couldn’t imagine it was at all comfortable.

They exchanged a few words with the patrol before climbing a tree to cross the river by leaping the high branches.

They regained the ground on the northern side where Erestor unfurled his tail. They marched quickly northward.

***

The pair managed to travel in content quietude for near the whole of an hour.

“Tell me about your parents?”

Erestor glared.

“There must be an interesting story there.”

Erestor sniffed disdainfully and said nothing.

Glorfindel scowled.

Glorfindel sighed.

Then, he pouted. “Please???”

“Oh for Valar’s sake,” Erestor murmured at the batting of the long eyelashes.

Glorfindel flashed a charming smile and Erestor huffed noisily before clearing his throat to begin in that smooth, mesmerizing voice. “It is said that he came to her in the form of my mother’s lover. They lay together there in her Mirkwood home on a bed of bluebells. Twelve months later, she gave me birth. I was ten years old when her true love returned from war. Of course, he thought she had knowingly betrayed him, and he cast us out. We wandered long years the wastes of this world – my mother and I – until the death of grief claimed her in the heights of the Misty Mountains. In hopes of acceptance, I at long last came to Imladris begging sanctuary of our good Lord. Of course, Elrond turns none in need away, be they man, dwarf, Elf... or something else all together. He knew my tale for truth and I have been loyal to him ever since.”

The golden head nodded thoughtfully. “What do you mean, he knew your tale for truth?”

“Elrond is the only one who knows my true ancestry. Other than yourself. It is not a story to be easily believed; the Maiar appear rarely enough in any form, let alone that of an Elf, and for devious purposes at that. But he believed me right away.”

“He has Maia blood as well,” Glorfindel realized.

“Precisely. He recognized in me a kindred spirit, of some sort.”

Silence.

“Erestor?”

The dark Elf seemed to flinch at the sound of his name. “What?” he asked sharply.

Glorfindel heard the growl in the barked question and proceeded carefully. “I was just wondering why it was you entrusted me with your secrets.”

Erestor furrowed his brow in thought, working out his answer before he spoke. “You do not know me. But I know you.”

“That... was about as comprehensible as usual. What do you mean?”

“I know I can trust you.”

Glorfindel raised a brow, an idiosyncrasy he had picked up from Elrond long ago. “Well, I’m flattered. You can, you know. Trust me, that is. But, how did you figure that out for yourself?”

Erestor stopped their march for the first time that day and turned to face him. The golden gaze was intense, but devoid of the usual focus, giving him a wild look.

Glorfindel was suddenly, acutely aware of the three-inch advantage Erestor had over him.

The dark Maia-Elf leaned forward; Glorfindel did not dare stir even a hair in any direction. That movement was so slow, so determined. Glorfindel felt as though he were being hunted, on some base level, and had the sudden urge to flee. But he stood tall, breathing heavily as Erestor leaned in toward him, bending his face down. Gold eyes fluttered closed as Erestor tilted his head, black braid swinging behind him.

Glorfindel felt the heat rushing in his veins, though he couldn’t imagine why. He knew his face was flushed, his breathing harsh, his sky blue eyes wide and unblinking.

Closer; gold eyes barely closed; pale lips slightly parted; glimpse of small white fangs.

Erestor bent his head into the crook of Glorfindel’s neck, and inhaled. He breathed in the scent of his partner and Glorfindel let out a sigh that was both relief and disappointment, not knowing where either emotion had come from.

Erestor continued sniffing, like a curious dog, but gently and slow and with delicate care and a strange sort of sensuality, never touching. “Lord Counselor,” came the purring rumble in a pointed ear, sending a sudden shiver down Glorfindel’s spine. “Why do you smell of fear?”

“I—I do not know,” Glorfindel stuttered.

Shaking his head, as if to throw off a dream, Erestor withdrew. “Your scent has always comforted me,” he explained.

Glorfindel merely stared at him. It was clear that the explanation was decidedly not understood.

“You smell of truth. Liars are rank with their deceit, but you smell pure. You will not betray my trust. You never would. It is simple.”

Still rather disturbed by the animalistic behavior, Glorfindel told him in a timid voice, “I am glad such things are simple for you. I find it much more difficult to tell the trustworthy from the false.”

Erestor shrugged and kept walking.

Glorfindel followed. He did not ask any more questions for a long while.

***

Avidly watching the dark Elf’s behavior, Glorfindel let Erestor lead. His movements seemed to grow simultaneously more fluid and yet sharper as they went. Erestor strode like liquid, brown garments and black hair blending into the forest. But on occasion, he would halt, his head turning like a hawk’s to peer into the distance, ears swiveling like a deer’s, nostrils flaring like a horse’s. When Glorfindel spoke, the answers he received yesterday had become precursory grunts in his general direction today, to indicate that he had been heard.

He seemed a great beast striding through the trees, wild indeed; but Glorfindel was not afraid and followed trustingly.

***

They traveled more slowly now, scouring the ground for signs of the enemy. They were few. A footprint here, offal there. “Scouts,” Erestor growled, sniffing along. “Very few. Very quiet. They are smart. But long gone.” He waved for Glorfindel to follow along quietly.

He did so.

***

Not long before sunset, they came upon a happy little brook full of fish running toward Imladris.

“Camp?” Glorfindel asked.

Erestor nodded agreement as he bent to examine the waters.

Glorfindel lay down his burdens before coming up behind the tracking Elf. “What do we know?”

“They are very careful,” Erestor murmured, shaking his finger at the stream. “The water is clean.” He crouched, placing his knuckles to the mossy bank and leaning over on all fours to sniff carefully. “Not pure. Not quite. But close enough that I would have no qualms about drinking it.”

Glorfindel nodded, though Erestor could not see him. “Is a fire safe tonight?”

Erestor stood on his toes; his knees were bent and his arms low, reminding Glorfindel of a rodent standing on hind legs. The eyes, the ears, the nose. Twitch, twitch, twitch. “Quite safe,” Erestor reassured him. “For dinner. But we must put it out soon.”

Again, Glorfindel nodded and he left the Elf at the bank to prepare a pit for the fire, wary as always of the bright flames. So absorbed was he in his task that it took several moments for the blond beauty to realize that a pile of brown clothes was growing beside him. He froze. He looked. Erestor was naked from the waist up, and disrobing quickly. “What are you doing?”

A tilt of the head. A finger to the stream. “Fish. Dinner.”

Glorfindel stared. “Ah.”

He kept staring.

Erestor gracefully pried himself out of the tight boots and peeled off the leather pants. He stood nude for a moment in the dying sun, which highlighted the pale body in soft gold and dusky pink. A nervous gold glance was aimed to Glorfindel, but the blonde did not see it.

His breath caught for he saw only what the Chief Counselor had been hiding all those many centuries. What had always appeared slim or slender or thin was in truth a tall, strong body packed with flexing muscle under scar-wrapped pale skin. And what was alien was still strange, but also beautiful. Undeniably. A strip of black fur ran from the nape of his neck to the base of his tail, which wagged slowly back and forth, the black tuft seemed a flag in soft tendrils of ebony.

Slender feet carried the creature to the stream, where he descended into the chill waters, tail daintily lifted away from the rushing current. The surface barely reached his knees and Erestor then bent over, hands disappearing into the cool depths.

Glorfindel quickly lit the fire and moved to sit in the shadow of a tree to watch.

Perfectly still, gold eyes trained on the water and what moved within. Frozen like a statue, only more perfect than any stone could possibly be, and twice as beautiful. How could one creature be so many things? Elegant and wild, bold and shy, beautiful and terrifying, sharp as a knife and gentle as a lamb.

Water lapped gently against the backs of pale knees, pale parted lips let a tongue sneak out, fierce gold eyes examined the field of the hunt, black hair shimmered in the starlight.

Glorfindel suddenly wondered if he might be the only being to ever behold this sight. He felt blessed.

A flick of the tail betrayed the lunge that followed it and Erestor threw a good-sized trout up out of the water. Right into Glorfindel’s lap.

The gold Elf barely reacted in time to catch the thing and prevent it from flopping about on his relatively clean traveling clothes. He scowled and removed himself to the fire, away from the brook, to attend the disgustful job of gutting and cleaning the fish to impale it on a stick for cooking.

Two more trout followed and Glorfindel caught them, drinking in the sight of the fair Elf covered in water droplets under the moonlight. “That’s plenty for me,” Glorfindel told him, preparing the fish before descending to the bank downstream of Erestor to clean his hands. Again, he found himself watching the Chief Counselor in all his glory, tail aligned for balance, braid pinned up out of the way.

He remained still for what seemed an eternity, and Glorfindel hadn’t realized he’d done the same.

Erestor abruptly looked up at him. A brow rose.

Glorfindel suddenly wondered if he, too, had picked up the gesture from Elrond.

Then he realized what he’d been doing. A rare blush colored Glorfindel’s cheeks when he was caught staring, and he rose from the bank to return to the camp and grab the burning fish away from the fire.

A snarl and a splash sounded behind him and Glorfindel turned from his meal to the sight of Erestor emerging from beneath the shallow waters, a large struggling trout clenched in his teeth, fangs sunk into the slippery scales. Gold eyes were unfocused and hungry as the water ran in rivulets of silver down that scar-covered skin. Erestor trotted on all fours up the opposite bank to crouch on his feet and gnaw at his meal.

Glorfindel watched in fascination, not abhorred, as he had been the night before with the rabbit. Now, it just seemed natural: the nude half-spirit squatting on the grass, fresh kill between his paws and devouring it whole.

Glorfindel smiled and began his own meal on the other side of the riverbank. And he again wondered what those odd feelings in the gut of his stomach meant.

***

Erestor disappeared into the wilds for a time. To his own surprise, Glorfindel found that he himself was not surprised that Erestor was alone and naked in what might be orc-infested land. And, he was not worried. Only curious.

Just what was he doing out there?

Some time later, when the sun was completely gone from the sky, Glorfindel felt his companion approach. Blue eyes searched all the terrain about him, and in the trees as well, but no sign could be seen of the naked Elf.

A small splash caught his attention and Glorfindel turned to see the spirit-Elf emerge from the water, black hair a mass of tangled snarls, gold eyes too-bright in a too-pale face, blood dripping from his mouth and from scratches along his bicep, thighs, and ribcage. He stepped upon the moss of the bank and shook himself like a dog, spraying Glorfindel with water.

Erestor moved to sit on the ground before the extinguished fire.

Glorfindel restrained himself from pouncing on the injured Elf to tend his wounds, instead remaining still and calm as his sweet voice whispered, “Erestor? What happened?”

“I had a disagreement.”

“With what? A rabid badger?”

Erestor shot him a dark look.

Glorfindel shut up. He moved to his pack for the medical kit personally stocked and supplied by Elrond. Glorfindel knew exactly what he needed and moved to sit close by the dark Elf, who now sat in a miserable puddle on the ground. “May I?”

The thin mouth tensed. A glance. A nod.

Gentle hands dried the worst of the wet before applying pressure to the wounds that appeared to be claw-marks. The bleeding ceased swiftly and Glorfindel applied a cleansing ointment. “There you are my friend. Good as new. There won’t be scars like these others.” He brushed a hand along much older marks along his back and arm. Erestor shivered. “So what happened?” Glorfindel persisted.

“You never give up, do you?”

“Are you kidding? I didn’t let death stop me! You think you can?”

“Probably not,” Erestor conceded.

It was a relief to hear him talking again, and Glorfindel didn’t want it to stop. “Then tell me, what did this?”

“I did.”

“See, that wasn’t so—” Wait a minute. “What?”

“I did it.”

Glorfindel stared with wide eyes as Erestor stood to don his clothing.

With gold eyes cast toward the ground, Erestor’s low voice was deathly quiet. “You cannot know what it is like to have two parts of yourself wholly at odds with one another.”

“The inscription on your knives,” Glorfindel muttered.

“Aye,” Erestor agreed as he pulled on his vest. “ _‘Strength of mind, strength of heart; Equal always, ever apart.’_ That is every moment of my waking life: morality struggling against desire. Wit ever attempting to overcome instinct. It tears at me, especially here. In the dark. In the forest. My soul wants to run free.”

“But your mind demands a different sort of freedom.”

Erestor suddenly looked to him. “Yes quite,” he agreed. Clothed once more, he turned toward a tree.

“Wait,” Glorfindel asked, holding up a small wooden comb for Erestor to see. “Let me tend your hair.”

Erestor stood a moment in internal debate before returning. Glorfindel patted the blankets. Erestor sat.

The golden-haired Elf inquisitively regarded the stiff back in front of him, the hunched shoulders, the bowed head. “Have you never let another do this for you?” he asked softly.

“Elrond used to, on occasion.”

“On occasions like this?”

“Yes. When I lost myself to the Other. When I came back, broken and bleeding. He would heal me and feed me. And tend my hair.” He added in a whisper, “Though he could never do the same for my heart.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Glorfindel let it go. Instead he asked, as he pulled the comb gently through silky snares, “The Other?”

“Yes, the other part of me. The one without thought or decency.”

Glorfindel almost fumbled the comb. “The animal?”

“Aye.”

The golden-haired Elf forced his mouth closed before probing further than was wise, simply returning the waves of smooth hair to a clean and organized state. He didn’t particularly allow himself to ponder how close he was to Erestor, that he could feel the heat of him, the odd fur at the base of his neck, the muscles under the leather vest and cotton shirt. “I’m done!” he announced quickly as soon as he tied off the single braid, scooting away.

“I thank you.”

He nodded and allowed Erestor to move to the base of a tree and assume his rest position.

Glorfindel rolled beneath his blankets to look up at the stars. He spoke without thinking. “You are so different from me, from the rest of us. Aren’t you?”

“I suppose I am.”

“What is it like, Erestor, to see the world through those eagle eyes of yours?”

Erestor did not answer right away, looking up to the stars and then over to his partner. “I do not know what to tell you, for I do not know what it is you see.”

Glorfindel shrugged carelessly. “Just tell me. Tell me everything.”

Erestor almost laughed. “Everything? That would take more time than you or I have at the moment. More hours than are in a day. More days than are in a year...”

“I’ll never learn a thing if you don’t begin,” Glorfindel teasingly pointed out.

“All right.” Erestor agreed. He looked to the sky, and his partner did the same. “I feel as though I can see every star in the heavens, billions upon billions of lights, flickering at different intensities in different colors.”

“Different colors?” Glorfindel asked.

“Yes. And every leaf holds ten shades of green. Every tree holds a hundred. Every forest holds a thousand. I can count the bats that circle overhead, the spiders on the trees. Every hair on your golden head, every speck of green in your sky-blue eyes. I can see the scars you think have become invisible, the one above your eyebrow, the other on your lip.”

Glorfindel looked at him, shocked. “But they’ve healed...”

“Certainly they’ve healed. But the skin once marred can never return to perfection. I see the echo of pain on your face, and in your hands, the pain you hide from the world.” He grimaced. “I see more than I care to, at times.”

“Like what?” Glorfindel asked breathlessly.

“Like the flush on your cheeks and the confusion in your eyes.” Erestor met those eyes unblinkingly, and then turned away. “Go to sleep, Lord Counselor.”

He did.

***

They exchanged watches in the night and rose early in the morning, clearing any sign of their passing and moving north across the stream, into the territory now claimed by the orcs.

Any signs of the enemy were old.

Glorfindel could not go long without speaking. “Then you never knew your father?”

“Nay.”

“Was it difficult?”

“To be cast out of society and lose my mother to grief while I barely understood the half of myself that I inherited from her, let alone the other half from an unknown father? What think you, Lord Counselor?”

Glorfindel bowed his head in self-rebuke. “I think I asked a stupid question.”

“Mmm,” Erestor agreed, tail twitching violently.

***

Glorfindel eyed the bruised lip on his companion. “How are your wounds?”

“Fine.”

With a mock frown, Glorfindel scolded, “You know what it means when someone says, ‘fine?’”

sigh “Do enlighten me.”

“It means, ‘Don’t ask me how I am because things are not, in fact, fine, but I won’t tell you the level of my suffering because you’re annoying me and I don’t want to talk about it.’ Of course, other times it just means, ‘fine.’”

“And how do you know which is which?”

Glorfindel smiled. “If the speaker looks in your eyes, he’s fine. If he doesn’t, he’s lying his ass off.”

“Your mouth needs adjustment.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my fucking mouth.”

“Oh, honestly...”

“I am fucking honest.”

 _growl_

***

Glorfindel found those growls becoming much more frequent, along with the mindless look in gold eyes and bearing of fangs along with tail twitches. He wondered what so upset his companion. “What’s wrong?”

Erestor started. He turned to Glorfindel. “What makes you think something is wrong?”

Glorfindel pointed to the animated tail. “Your mood indicator is off the scales.”

Another growl. “There are many orcs in these woods: here where the woods are thick, they do not fear to move in daylight beneath the boughs that block the sun. Still, there are few signs; it bothers me that I cannot see them.”

“What do you hear?”

“There is a large encampment ahead of us, a base of some sort, but we will not reach it before nightfall.”

“Then perhaps we should make camp now, where it is relatively safer, and continue fresh in the morning.”   
Erestor nodded, sniffing the air. “That would be best.”

***

There was no fire this night. Glorfindel dined on berries and apples, huddled beneath the tall trees with ears to the wind while Erestor disappeared, returning from his own meal later.

Erestor joined his companion and sniffed the air. “Nothing within a league. We should be quite safe until morning.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Agreed.”

When he noticed Erestor staring at him, Glorfindel attempted to stare him down in retaliation. But he could not manage it, finding patience to be a virtue only in the most important of matters. “What?”

Erestor cast one of his almost-grins at the Elf. “I was just wondering what your question would be this night,” he mused.

“Ah,” Glorfindel said, satisfied. He snuggled deeper in his bedroll until he was comfortable and then gazed thoughtfully at Erestor as he pondered. “You never stop smelling the world around you, do you?”

“Never,” he confirmed.

“What does your nose tell you?”

Erestor leaned his head back against the trunk, eyes closed, furry black tail waving slowly in contentment. “Ah, so many things. The scents of the world tell me more than eyes and ears together.” He began, “A fox passed this way but one hour ago, pursuing a young rabbit. This tree is sick with rot; no, you cannot see it, and it will be long before the elm falls, but fall it will, in due course. Three days ago, a scouting party of five orcs crossed this place, full of adrenaline and anger: the air is rife with it, even days later. Mmm, there is a blueberry bush behind those pines, frequented by a family of black bears.” He sighed. “There is so much to tell.” A smile. “Then there is you.” Gold eyes opened, piercing Glorfindel with their intensity.

“Me?” he asked with a yelp, taken aback at the sudden attention.

“Of course. You smell delicious.”

Glorfindel did not quite know what to make of that. “Delicious like fresh steak?” he asked cautiously, though without any real fear.

Erestor actually chuckled. “No, my friend; I would never eat you! You smell of goodness.”

Glorfindel blinked. “How is possible to smell of such a thing?”

“In the same manner demons smell of evil. It is quite tangible. You smell of happiness, a great joy in life, despite the pain I still see in your eyes. You smell of an open sort of love, of never-ending delight, of generosity and kindness. You smell of the woods and of the strawberries we ate. You smell of that apple-scented soap you are so fond of, and of daisies.”

“Daisies?!”

“You slept quite near a patch of daisies the night past.”

“Oh, right,” Glorfindel recalled now, the white flowers under moonlight before he lost himself to sleep. “Wow.”

With sunset near, neither Elf was interested in rest, but neither were they inclined to talk, and so sat in contented silence, perhaps thinking on what the coming day would bring them as the sky dulled to a cold blue followed by dull grey.

Then, Erestor spoke. “Lord Counselor—” He stopped his words short, and began again, “Glorfindel. May I ask you a question?”   
“Certainly,” he allowed, perking up at the words.

“What was it like?” Erestor asked in a whisper. “Death?”

Wide blue eyes appeared lost as they searched the grassy ground, sunny face going pale at the query. His voice was so quiet. “It is not something any Elf should know. No, nor even Men nor Dwarves. My time came in those dark days; I knew it was coming. I beheld that demon of the underworld and knew he meant my death. The battle was fierce, and all the more frightening because I knew I would not survive it.”

Blue eyes were focused on nothing, as Glorfindel calmly recited the little details, “I was struck by the whip of fire, and dragged down into the bowels of the earth. Wrapped in flame, choked by smoke, blinded by the terrible burning blaze and endless darkness of the earth. I have never known such pain. I still fear the pain of fire,” he admitted, rich voice now a whimper as he continued. “It is a torment I would not wish on the vilest of creatures. Horrible, disfiguring, tearing, burning pain that could have lasted an eternity for all the awareness I had of it.

“Then comes a moment, a moment out of time, a moment full of nothing but emptiness when the thread of life is cut, soul severed from body. I wandered, lost, amid a world of shadows until the call of Mandos reached my ears. My spirit approached the doors, nothing but cold stone gates leading to halls of more grey stone. It is a place of coldness and loneliness, full of windows.”

“Windows?”

“Windows to a remembered life. Windows to the past. Where you live again every moment in grief of what has passed and in regret that you cannot change it. It was an all-encompassing horror to me that there was very little in those windows that made me smile or gave me comfort. Little to be proud of and less to celebrate. The Lord of Gondolin led a very disappointing life with too many duties and not enough friends, full of the dreary monotony of day-to-day toil and no rest at the end of it.

“Except there, entombed in stone where I had eternal rest, forever glimpsing fellow shimmering spirits just around the corner, always out of reach. My only companions in that place were my despair and my pain. And Mandos, who condescended to speak with me on occasion, though I can’t imagine he found me worthy of it. My death was as boring and pointless as my life had been. At least, that’s what I thought.”

Erestor straightened and moved to object, but Glorfindel spoke first. “I died bravely, I died well, I knew this. But there was so much, so much I never did or knew or learned or cared for or took the time for.”

He ceased his tale and Erestor spoke. “Then Elrond came.”

“Yes; a voice full of power demanding entreaty. I couldn’t believe at first that he risked his own life to resurrect me. I was even more stunned when I was granted it.”

“And then you made yourself a little vow,” Erestor guessed.

“Damn right I did,” Glorfindel agreed with an affected foppish attitude. Then, he smiled freely. “To live.”


	4. INTERLUDE (In other words, THE MIDDLE)

They were woken long before dawn by a cold rain, slow and relentless. Wordlessly, the pair rose from their huddled positions between the trees, each taking a sip of the precious miruvor to warm and enliven them. Glorfindel removed a grey rag from the rucksack and tied it like a shawl over his head to hide the brilliant golden tresses from enemy eyes; in such small numbers, they couldn’t be too careful, even in the pitch-black rainy morning.

Swiftly, they began the march north, both praising and cursing the rain as they went.

“At least our scent is drowned in this downpour,” Glorfindel said as the drops fell heavier.

“Yes, and signs of the enemy deleted,” Erestor pointed out, watching as footprints were washed away before their very eyes. “And it dampens my sense of smell as well.”

“Oh, right,” said Glorfindel, spirits darkening as the possible desperation of their situation set it. “This could be dangerous,” he needlessly advised. “Should we turn back?”

Erestor halted their trek to address him directly. “And leave Imladris vulnerable to who-knows-what? Is that what you want?”

“No, but perhaps we should wait until this rain settles.”

Erestor shook his head, resuming their hike. “Nay. It shall shield us as well as hinder. Let us proceed, though with care.”

A nod of the covered head agreed and they took off through the trees at a gallop, stopping as Glorfindel searched the ground for tracks and Erestor sniffed the air, following where the scant signs led them.

Now, they were far past the borders, but still some leagues from the mountains, and the sounds of orcs filled the air: stomping and snarling, the shouts of soldiers and clank of metal on metal.

“We are closer than I thought,” Erestor whispered, pointing upward.

Glorfindel again nodded agreement and the two Elves quickly scaled a small tree, leaping from branch to branch, unhampered by the rain-slick bark that made their road until they reached the higher canopy of older trees.

Finding a high, level fork in an old oak, they settled down to watch the orcs beneath. The enemy was loud here; not the vigilant force that had been attacking the borders, they tramped heedlessly through the brush, arguing amongst themselves as was their wont. The beasts marched in loose formation, accompanied by groups of goblins and riders on wargs. The Elves watched in silence for a long while, wary of moving.

Eventually, Glorfindel spoke, his words no more than a whisper barely heard by the only one intended to hear him. “How many, do you think?”

“Does the word ‘legion’ mean anything to you?” Erestor replied dryly, his own voice pitched low, but while Glorfindel’s tenor blended with the wind, Erestor’s rumble mingled with the pattering rain.

“Shit.”

Erestor nodded. “What do you see in this pitch black rain?”

Glorfindel squinted carefully down, the only light reaching his Elvish eyes from scattered torches carried by the enemy. “Crude weapons. Motley armor. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except that they are far too close to our land.”

Erestor nodded again. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” he mused to himself. “We must have missed their sentries in the blackness of this storm.” He peered at the line moving steadily southwest. “Tents, do you see, there?” He pointed to rough canvas rolls being hauled by a shorter crew of orcs. “And covered crates on wagons. We can’t risk a closer look, but I want to know what’s hidden in those carts.” A growl betrayed his frustration. “We shall learn nothing here. We must move north, find their base.”

Glorfindel regarded him with worry. “I don’t like it. You’re right, but I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it,” Erestor pointed out wryly. He trod carefully along the branch into the next tree and the next, followed by a wary Glorfindel, leaving the slow-moving army behind.

***

They halted at the top of another tree to speak.

“No catapults, no spears, few bows,” Glorfindel stated.

“No weapons of assault,” Erestor confirmed. “At least they do not mean to invade.”

“They merely expand their territory.”

“But now we have larger troubles to worry us,” Erestor pointed out. His eyes were closed as he tilted his head to the wind, uncaring of the rain sluicing down his face and hair. “The stronghold is near. Many orcs. Too many. And goblins as well. Wargs. Maybe trolls.”

“Workers.”

“Aye.”

Glorfindel watched curiously as Erestor screwed up his face in concentration, scenting the damp air as his ears swiveled carefully. “What’s wrong?”

“I wish I knew,” he murmured, finally opening those shocking gold eyes. “Something is wrong. I can’t say why. There’s just something a little... off. In the air. On the air. My gut tells me there is something gruesome waiting for us, something more evil than I have known in long years. I hear cries of anguish, but if they be Elf, orc, or otherwise, I cannot say. Fires burn, but not forges. I smell the burning of flesh.”

Glorfindel shuddered reflexively.

Erestor noticed, but said nothing of it. “My best guess is that there is a torture chamber of some sort. That is where our missing fellows have gone.”

Another shudder answered this statement. When Glorfindel spoke, his sweet voice was low and weary. “But why? What could be their reason? Why tempt fate, so close to Imladris? Why would they...?”

“We shall find out,” Erestor told him with a small shrug, turning to continue.

“Wait!” Glorfindel begged, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. “We know what they are doing. That is what we were sent for. The ‘why’ can wait; as much as I want to know, we can risk no more! We must turn back now and alert Elrond to the situation. We have what we need,” he repeated, blue eyes wide and pleading. “Let’s go back.”

Erestor turned away, facing the north. “I am not satisfied.” He looked again to his companion. “Go, if you wish. You are right. But I feel I must know more. There is something not right here. I must know what it is.”

Glorfindel watched him. For many moments, their eyes met unblinking, a challenge of wills, with a tanned hand still gripping a strong shoulder.

“I am not so sure that is our wisest course of action,” Glorfindel advised. “But I see your determination, and would not leave you here. I shall go with you.”

After a moment, Erestor nodded. There was a grateful look in those haunting eyes, though he said nothing of thanks. “Quiet as a mouse, swift as a fox. Let’s go.”

***

Mute as mice, fleet as foxes, the two Elves raced along the upper branches of the forest. Quickly they came nearer their destination until Glorfindel, too, could smell the stench of death and hear the cries of agony.

The forest ended at a line of trees, revealing before them a wasteland of tortured earth: trees ripped from the ground, trenches of filth, smoke rising from cracks and small canyons. Orcs idly patrolled throughout, coming and going through holes in the earth leading down into dark places of pain and despair. The most obedient of wargs were chained down, and gnawed savagely on the rank red flesh tossed to them by their riders. Pitched tents and grossly hobbled buildings made up a primitive but efficient perimeter of the place.

The two spies in the trees did not speak, for fear of being overheard, even so high up and undercover of dark and rain. They merely watched.

Many minutes they stood their guard. Waiting. The two could not have said what it was they awaited, but they did. They waited for something.

Clear blue eyes clouded with sorrow at the sight before them. Glorfindel wondered how this could have come to pass anywhere, let alone so close to home, without notice. He wondered what drove these creatures, he wondered if some magic protected them, and he wondered what their true purpose was.

Suddenly a horn rung out, loud and discordant, that forced Erestor to cover his ears. The two Elves looked carefully out at the rain-washed land for sight of what had been signaled. A large rock, jagged and heavy, was moving in the ground, rolling away to reveal a gaping maw in the earth— a pitch black hole from which echoed distant screams. How far down did it go?

They watched in wonder as two little orcs scurried out, pushing worker goblins out of the way as they shouted something in their harsh tongue. Using what looked like angry two-pronged pitchforks, they forced back curious onlookers that gathered. A Westron curse rang out. “Make way, pigs, grovel before your betters! Down, you idiot beasts!”

A row of several squat soldier orcs, in slightly better kept armor than most, marched almost in unison from the dark hole. Gruesome helms covered yellow eyes and rotting teeth as they held the large iron swords in thickly gloved paws. The row parted into two lines, making a clear path of torn earth from the uncovered cave.

Glorfindel gasped. Erestor shook his head in wonder.

Large, black beasts with yellow fangs and black claws emerged. They marched three-by-three in roughshod boots and large clanking black armor. Strong and tall, these were no orcs. Nor goblins either. Black hair fell in strings from high foreheads. Muscle-corded arms carried heavy javelins and maces and shields. Strong legs pounded the earth as they marched, roaring at the crowd of orcs and goblins that appeared puny beside these formidable creatures. The mass whimpered and cowered as these soldiers approached, although they shouted each in their own tongue at these new animals that crawled from the earth.

Stamped on each helm, forged on each shield, was a white hand.

Forgetting their precarious position, Glorfindel spoke, though his voice was a muffled whisper. “What _are_ they?” Fear and wonder laced the subdued tone.

Erestor could only shake his head, though he glared murderously down at the things, growling deep in his throat.

As they watched, a large orc – piggish and muscled – climbed atop a small promontory of rock to shout down the crowd. The foreman snorted and squawked until he had most of their attention. “Look, you swine! Behold, the new race of darkness! These are the fighting Uruk-hai!”

A cheer went up, full of screams and howls as the dark beings celebrated the birth. They stamped the ground and threw fists to the air, rolling their ugly eyes and laughing their ugly laughter. The Uruk-hai gazed with cool indifference at the world around them, snapping large jaws at any that came too close.

The cacophony went on until a whistle blew somewhere in the ravaged camp, signaling the rise of the sun. With amazing speed, the clearing emptied – the creatures all disappearing like rats into holes. Wargs were herded into a large fissure of darkness. Huge trolls stamped into the caves. Goblins, orcs, all fled.

Still, the foreman remained with arms crossed, resolute upon his pedestal as another horn blew and the great rock began its movement into place, forced by unseen wheels turned by unseen hands somewhere in the depths. This mean orc waited as the Uruk-hai turned round to make their way back into the darkness.

The troop moved efficiently as the foreman finally hopped down to scurry into the cave before the great rock fell into place. A half dozen of the new creatures were still out when one of them suddenly halted, a hand coming up to stop his nearest companion. They all of them ceased the march, looking to this one who sniffed the air and growled.

Erestor and Glorfindel watched with horror as the Uruk turned away from the darkness to look out over the scarred land, through the rain, to the trees. He sneered as the others questioned him. Grinning savagely as he raised his sword, the Uruk-hai cried out, “Elf!”


	5. CHAPTER THE THIRD: OH SHIT...

“Blood!”

The cry went up.

“ELF-BLOOD! ELF-BLOOD!”

Frozen for a moment like cornered rabbits, the Elves remained perched in the trees, thoughts flying.

Blood.

Erestor.

It must have smelled the wounds, the blood on his clothes from the other night.

Glorfindel could see Erestor mentally cursing himself even as they both turned and fled, practically flying through the trees in their panicked desperation.

Without knowing he had done so, Glorfindel pulled loose his bow and notched an arrow into place. Erestor raced ahead as the golden Elf halted to turn and gauge their pursuers’ distance. The Uruk-hai were directly beneath him.  
 Black arrows shot toward him. Glorfindel hopped away and loosed an arrow of his own.

His aim proved true and a fierce howl sounded from below.

“Glorfindel! Run!” Erestor ordered, already a good distance ahead.

He ran.

The Elves remained above, but put no distance between themselves and the tireless enemy on the ground. Black arrows continued their assault, the ugly bolts flying far too close for comfort. The sound of wargs’ howls grew loud. The clanking of heavy armor never ceased. “Can we reach the border patrol?” Glorfindel panted.    
“We had better,” Erestor answered, though there was nothing of hope in his voice.

The sun rose as they fled, infusing the world with a hazy grey light through the clouds and unending rain. Arien’s presence did nothing to delay the enemy.

Erestor came to a halt at the top of a tall tree. Glorfindel stopped beside him. “What?”

Erestor held up a hand for silence. “Listen,” he instructed.

Glorfindel strained to listen through the pattering rain to the world around them. “They’re ahead of us,” he realized with a mix of awe and terror.

“We’re surrounded,” Erestor confirmed.

“I had hoped we weren’t going to need this,” Glorfindel muttered, fumbling in his rucksack only to pull out a battered red stick with fletching on one notched end.

Erestor shook his head fondly. “Mithrandir and his fireworks,” he muttered. It was almost prayerful.

Glorfindel awkwardly notched the makeshift arrow in his bow and aimed to the sky. “On your mark,” he whispered.

The dark Elf nodded, taking between thumb and middle fingers the wick that dangled off the fletching. Gold eyes flared as Erestor muttered some ancient word, snapping his fingers. The cord burst to life, flaring an obscenely bright orange in their world of grey. Erestor watched the traveling flame closely, speaking lowly. “Three. Two. One. Shoot.”

Glorfindel let fly the firework, which sped truthfully past the canopy, fighting its way through the rain to light the sky above them in a shower of red sparks released by a deafening bang, and singing orange fizzes that multiplied, lighting up the dark sky above.

“Let’s hope someone sees that,” Erestor sighed. The war calls from below doubled in volume as the enemy circled beneath them. Gold eyes met blue in a moment of something close to despair. “Prepare to run. Stay in the canopy. Move fast. Pray for the best. And get ready to fight,” the Maia-Elf grimly instructed.

Glorfindel nodded agreement and led the way, leaping into a neighboring tree and continuing the route home, ignoring the angry shouts beneath them and the black bolts that still flew toward them.

They ran.

They stayed in the trees.

They moved fast.

But not fast enough.

Glorfindel cried out. He fell. Like a wounded bird he plunged downward, gold hair streaming as the rag flew off, the red blood streaking the air behind him to lend the rainfall pinkish drops of precious lifeblood.

The trees stood round him in grey columns as he rushed to meet the muddied earth.

Later, he couldn’t decide which sickened him more, the splat that his body made as it hit the earth, or the snapping of his leg.

But those two sounds rung absurdly clearly in his ears before the pain consumed him.

A jarring nausea rolled over the Elf in a wave as fire flared along his left leg, broken at the knee. The painful heat that spider webbed out from his right shoulder, from which protruded one of those revoltingly thick arrows, was almost an afterthought. His head pounded, his heart quailed, and he could barely see the dark shapes swarming toward him through the misty rain.

“Erestor.” It was no more than a whimper.

The shadowy figures advanced, moving into focus with frightening clarity: the gruesome faces, hideous claws, deadly weapons all outlined with stark precision against the grey backdrop of the forest.

Pain ricocheted through his body as he reached for the hilt of that ancient mithril sword.

They were before him now, black faces and yellow eyes and cruel fangs. Steel edges. Claws. Hate.

The faithful blade whispered against the leather sheath as he withdrew it. The movement felt so slow; could he really be that badly off?

“Back, you demons,” he hissed.

Laughter welled up from their deep, wretched throats. Humorless. Evil. A barbarously edged weapon descended toward him.

“Erestor!” His voice was shrill, laced with fear as he brought his brightly shining sword up in a weak defense.

But the attack never fell. Blue eyes blinked. A brown-clad form stood before him, the enemy’s weapon in his hand. Glorfindel could not see his friend’s face, but the expression on the Uruk-hai was one of confusion. Erestor crouched down, a growl low in his throat. He snapped the rude cutlass in two and threw the useless pieces aside. The other creatures watched curiously as the Elf met the Uruk, face to face. Erestor’s growl increased in pitch and the Uruk answered in kind. The two animals roared, a challenge understood only between them.

Then, the enemy charged.

His great, hulking form ran headlong into Erestor’s tall body, but he barely recoiled, catching the lunge with an armored bicep in each hand.

For a moment they were as two great stags, meeting in a careful dance, testing strength and determination. They pushed against each other, neither moving, though feet dug deep in the earth to retain their positions. Many moments the struggle continued as the Uruk shook his black head in anger and Erestor wagged his black tail in hatred.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the test was ended. The Uruk looked up in shock, feeling his combatant shifting, feeling the strength in that super-Elven body.

Erestor pulled.

The left arm came off first, black blood spurting from the socket as the Uruk howled. The limb came crashing down on the helmed head with great force.  
 Glorfindel allowed himself, for but a second, to dwell on the absurdity of Erestor attacking the thing with its own arm.

A gurgling sound emitted from the throat and Erestor threw down the clawed limb. He grasped the Uruk close and with a guttural, hungry growl lunged at the thing’s neck.

In the moment before death, yellow eyes were only portals of fear.

Little fangs tore the black flesh and Erestor tore out its throat, more blood spurting—though weakly—from the dead body.

The Maia-Elf spit out the bit of flesh and dropped the carcass to the mud. Black blood ran down from his mouth, staining chin and neck and vest.

He turned suddenly to face the Elf lord curled up on the forest floor behind him. Glorfindel quailed to see not the slightest sign of intelligence in those flashing golden eyes. “Erestor?”

His only answer was a tilt of the magnificent head.

He was animal, through and through.

Then came the attack.

Erestor didn’t need Glorfindel’s warning, shouted too late anyway. The dark Elf spun like a whirlwind, lashing out to break the back of his closest opponent, snap the knee of the next, and decapitate the one after that by grasping the head and simply pulling it off.

The last Uruk in this first wave of attack encountered a clawed hand that struck through the black breastplate to gorge through skin and bone to rip out the still beating heart, black and red and twisted. Erestor held the heart to his mouth to suck out the creature’s cold blood.

Glorfindel turned away from the grisly sight to vomit up what little food was in his stomach.

When he recovered himself and returned his sight to the battle, he let out a low, keening wail as the Uruks fell like a hideous, black deluge upon his companion. It seemed Erestor was buried beneath the hacking blades and tears welled up in Glorfindel’s fierce blue eyes, overflowing down cheeks that grew pale at loss of blood and loss of life. He shouted the name of his dear friend. But Erestor could not answer. And Erestor could not be seen beneath the Uruk-hai that swarmed like shadowed mutant maggots atop him.

Erestor was lost to him.

And in that moment Glorfindel realized . . . that cold counselor had become very dear to him.

He was seized without warning, strong claws trapping his arms and carrying him swiftly away from the battle and toward the camp they had run from. Glorfindel felt his strength fading and removed himself from consciousness, letting the comforting nothingness overwhelm him.

***

A distant sort of awareness informed Glorfindel of the world about him. He was carried some ways, the gray trees wrapping up a hall of mist that he was born along like a broken rag doll in a stream of sewage. The arrow was pulled from him, mercilessly torn from his flesh; it hurt far more coming out than going in and he was glad of the distance he maintained from the physical world at the moment. He was stolen away behind the great rolling stone and carried deep into the belly of the earth where there were only shadows.

Screams of Elves and orcs rung throughout the caverns. He could smell again the burning flesh. But he did not open his eyes until they passed further down into a cold cave where the signs of torment were distant and he was left alone.

Then, at long last, he did open bleary blue eyes. Somewhere a torch burned. He could not see it, but the flickering offered just enough light so that he could make out shapes and shadows. There were three walls, a floor, and a ceiling to his stone prison. And a stolid progression of cold black bars keeping him in.

The more aware he grew, the more the pain intensified. He grumbled amicably to himself as he reached down to straighten his broken leg and fix the bones back into place. He allowed himself a short scream before resuming unconsciousness.

***

Time passed differently for him in the weak, healing sleep, but he knew he could not have been sleeping long when the clanking of shod feet on stone steps awaked him. He opened one pale blue eye to a narrow slit, watching the shadows dance beyond the bars as someone drew near. Finally, two rickety orcish slaves came into view, toting a tall body between them. He watched carefully as one withdrew a key and muttered some magic, thereby opening a door in the bars. The skeletal creatures heaved in the brown-clad body and quickly locked the door before clunking away again.

Glorfindel cocked his head, ignoring the heat that flared in his shoulder and the agony that echoed in his leg. Erestor lay nearly atop him in their small cell. Glorfindel smiled to himself. He could not see whether his friend be alive or dead, but surely nobody would imprison a corpse.

Content with the relief that Erestor yet lived, Glorfindel rested once more, ignorant to the tears streaming down his own chilled cheeks.

***

Consciousness crept upon him like a forming icicle. Dreams came in slow drips until a cone of awareness began to build itself up like an anthill. There was only a sort of low, internal cognizance at first. The pains of his body thrummed in a heated ache, but it was no longer intense. There was hunger and thirst and a slowly maturing headache. Eventually, thoughts began arranging themselves into words and Glorfindel wondered that perhaps death had been kinder to him this time.

But no, this was no death. Simply a hell devised by hellish creatures for no seen purpose.

A sudden urge to scratch his leg overcame him, but the lord did not move. The itching meant the healing was in full force, and he was content to let his body take care of itself until he was better able to do so.

Finding that wakefulness was not this time accompanied by pain and terror, Glorfindel thought he might open his eyes. He thought about it for a long time actually, weighing all the whethers and whether nots. He could not think of a single happy reason for opening his eyes, but the need to see Erestor alive, if not well, was strong.

Then, he finally decided to pay attention to what his ears were telling him. There was a scuffle scuffle scuffle scrape, scuffle scuffle scuffle scrape. And there was a bit of a breeze at every other scuffle as well, blowing against his face. Someone was pacing.

And indeed, when he conceded to opening his eyes, the faint light of the place revealed Erestor pacing determinedly from one wall to the other. The cell was only three paces square, barely enough room for one Elf to lay down, let alone two, and the Maia-Elf’s head nearly brushed the sliming stone ceiling that dripped with ooze over the decades.

If Erestor had suffered any great injury, it was not apparent. His fine brown shirt was lacking a sleeve and the leather vest was scraped and slashed. The pants were torn and the boots scuffed, but there wasn’t a single mark upon the fine white skin, except for a cruel gash that still burned red along the delicate line of his neck.

Feeling the headache ripen, Glorfindel groaned a bit to himself, raising a hand to press down on his eyes. “Erestor? Are you in your right mind again? Or shall I find you delivering mice to my feet like a proud kitty cat?”

“You’re awake,” Erestor answered gruffly, ceasing his self-torment to kneel before the golden warrior. “I bound your leg.”

Glorfindel glanced down to see Erestor’s missing sleeve wrapped tight around his knee. “It’s getting better,” he agreed. “But I don’t seem to heal so quick as you.”

Erestor shrugged shyly, lowering to sit on the cold ground. “I am sorry.”

“I don’t know what you are apologizing for.”

“I—”

“And I don’t care,” Glorfindel said. “Stop it.”

“But . . .”

“This is no more your fault than mine or Elrond’s or anyone else. We are here to do a job and we still are. We shall discover who is orchestrating this madhouse and why. Then, we shall escape, rescue the prisoners, and return to Imladris, where its Half-Elven Lord shall scold us and send us to bed without supper.”

“Well, thank the Valar for Balrog-slayers and their cunning plans,” Erestor murmured. “It’s a fine one, but I do not anticipate any sort of escape from this hole.”

“Why not?”

Erestor punched out at the bars beside them, the flat of his palm violently striking the metal with a flinch-inducing thunk. “Magic. The place breathes with it. My strength might bend iron bars alone, but not when they are held here by magic. A dark magic.”

“Only dark magic could have created those black beasts,” Glorfindel muttered with a shake of his glorious head.

Changing the subject, Erestor stood, letting his tail fall down from where he had wrapped it round his waist sometime during the battle. “What strength have you in your arm?” he asked, indicating Glorfindel’s right arm.

Curious, Glorfindel shrugged. “I know not. What strength do you need?”

Erestor sighed and bit at his lower lip in an uncharacteristic show of indecision before weaving his tail outside one of the bars and back into their cell. He waved the furry tuft at Glorfindel. “Take hold.”

Glorfindel did so.

“Now, pull.”

“What?!”

“Pull.”

“But I—”

“Do it!” Erestor commanded in a fierce growl, and Glorfindel abjectly obeyed.

Erestor strained against the bars, pushing himself away from them. There was a disconcerting pop from his lower back and Erestor immediately reacted, shimmying and twisting until the tail tore loose. Blood streamed down the back of Erestor’s pants, but he paid no heed as Glorfindel stared at the obscene tail free in his hand and wiggling madly.

“Thank you,” Erestor told him, taking the tail away. “Should they discover me to be more than mere Elf, I do believe I would have a hard time of it. They shall be suspicious as it is when I heal more quickly than they anticipate.” Erestor stripped some of the fur and skin away from the base of the tail and began gnawing at the red flesh.

Realizing the absolute horror with which Glorfindel stared at him, Erestor ceased moving mid-bite and swallowed what was in his mouth. “You must be hungry.” He held out the still squirming prehensile limb. “Want some?”

Glorfindel stared, blue eyes grown wide. He slowly shook his head.

Erestor chewed up a bit more of the stringy flesh, spitting out the tiny bones that made the tail so flexible. He tried to peer down along the corridor, but could see little, even with his gold eyes sparkling in the darkness as they seemed to. Glorfindel had never noticed that before. “The darker it is, the more your eyes glow.”

Erestor regarded him with the classic raised eyebrow, though his companion could barely make it out in the darkness. Ignoring the statement, he sat again beside the wounded Elf. “We are Elves, and though we cannot starve, we can still suffer from hunger. I doubt they will offer us anything edible to eat, if anything at all.” Again, he held out the severed tail, which now only twitched on occasion. “Taste of my flesh, Lord Counselor. It will sustain you like nothing else in this place will.”

Glorfindel made a gulping motion with his throat, but since his mouth was dry, it only made him cough. He blinked, those depthless blue eyes still wide as saucers. His look was uncertain, but he reached up a trembling white hand.

It was incredibly soft he realized now that he thought about it. Those many short furs were smooth and soft, and the broken limb was warm. He closed his mind and brought the bloodied flesh to pale lips.

Erestor watched indifferently as Glorfindel took several healthy bites of his tail. When Erestor turned away again to look out between the bars, he sensed the blue gaze on him. He turned to see Glorfindel thoughtlessly eating but staring at the place where his tail used to proudly hang. “The wound is sealed already. It will heal quickly and grow back again in time.”

Glorfindel wordlessly nodded, handing back the bleeding stump and not bothering to question how his mysterious friend knew such a thing. Erestor quickly consumed what little meat was to be had, sucking up the plentiful blood, his tongue lapping at it in little pink swipes. He carefully plucked the fur from the remaining pelt and torn the skin into little bits, letting them scatter and fall to the floor unseen amongst the shattered bones. No trace remained of his most obvious anomaly.

Erestor looked to his companion, who was trying to wipe away the red blood from his mouth with a scrap torn from his sleeve, but only succeeded in smearing it about. Erestor knelt and took the rag from him, spitting upon it and carefully cleaning Glorfindel’s pale face.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

***

They sat in silence many hours. Erestor had fallen to a moody stillness after the loss of his limb, and Glorfindel didn’t blame him. The dark Elf had suggested that he sleep, but Glorfindel could not do away with awareness now that he was healing and within the confines of the enemy. He could not put down his guard.

It seemed the length of the day passed in unmoving quiet and peace until such time as the sun would be setting, could they see it. Then came the footsteps.

They came in great number down the stair, and it was the largest and ugliest of them all that pointed within the cell to where Erestor now stood snarling at them. “That one.”

To Glorfindel’s eyes, it all became a blur. He gained his feet and rushed at them, despite the singing pain in his broken knee, but they pushed him back and he fell and when he looked again Erestor was gone, though he could hear the angry howls for many minutes more as they bore his friend away.

“Elbereth protect him,” Glorfindel murmured. He said it again.

He said it again and again and again.

Until at last they came for him.

***

It was the same as before: cruel hands and tearing claws carrying him along. A deep-seated fear awoke in him when they entered a huge chamber full of fire and smoke. The black smoke stung his eyes and his vision darkened and the black smoke stung his lungs and he coughed in the polluted air. Something was forced into his mouth and he was surprised at the refreshing miruvor. Until realization set it. They wanted him alive.

Clothes were stripped from him and everything was hot. There were more flames. There were screams as well on the air. He thought he recognized the voice of a young Elf that had once been under his command and had disappeared several moons ago. He also smelled burnt flesh. The scent was strong here. Then he felt the flames and heard his own screams and smelt his own flesh and he ceased to think at all.

***

When Glorfindel woke this time, he was back in the cell again, but there was no distant ache. The torment was very present in the heat that ran all through him, from feet to head. He turned his head to look at the hand beside him. It was blistered and red. A lock of blonde hair fell in front of his eyes. It had been burned away to little more than a few inches. The throbbing pain seemed unbearable and Glorfindel closed his eyes; even that little move was filled with its own brand of agony.

This was too much like the flames that had choked him down in a past life. Tears welled up silently and escaped the barriers of his lids to fall on blackened cheeks; the salt water stung, but at least it was a sensation different from the constant burn throughout.

He paid little heed to the approaching sounds. He was in a haze of pain and did not realize there were people near the cell until the door was open. He heard Erestor’s growl of anger and yelp of pain as they tossed him in and slammed the door in his face. At least his friend was conscious.

Erestor growled at the enemy and barked through the bars.

Though not sane.

Glorfindel listened to the little whines that his companion emitted. They were moans of pain, he knew, and he felt sorrow for Erestor sing within him along with the pain and the fear and the anger. He cracked open his eyes to see Erestor, shirtless and dirty and dripping wet, cowering in the far corner. Glorfindel licked cracked lips and spoke in a cracked voice. “Erestor?”

Erestor ceased the action of licking at his hands and looked up swift as a raven to the voice that had called him. Without warning, Erestor bounded toward him in a single leap like a flying hound to crouch above Glorfindel’s burnt form and sniff all over him with vigorous intent. Glorfindel recoiled at the heat of Erestor’s body and the multitude of drops that fell like rain from Erestor’s drenched form. “Too hot,” he whispered.

But Erestor did not understand. He sniffed and nosed at Glorfindel’s unmoving form, whining his little moans. Glorfindel wept anew when he looked up to see Erestor’s gold eyes also full of tears, though as before in the previous day’s battle there was no sign of intelligence in them.

Finally, Erestor sat back on his haunches. He lifted his face to the ceiling and let out a keening, eerie howl; it was a noise unlike any Glorfindel had ever heard, full of anger and regret and sorrow and despair and mourning. The echoing croon carried down the corridor and reverberated in his soul and Glorfindel wanted more than anything for it to stop.

But Erestor did not stop and the howl went on like a sighing wind, full of pain. And even though Glorfindel knew little of Erestor’s other life, he knew that mourning wail was for him. Erestor mourned what had become of him, in this burnt and blackened state.

And Glorfindel cried for them both.

***

Glorfindel did not remember sleeping or having fallen asleep. But then he was waking up, and so reasoned that he must have – at one point in his recent past – slept.

There was an unhealthy stillness in the air. He opened his eyes to again see his hand. The blisters were healing to red and white scars, the black crisp of his outer skin having fallen away. He tried to move, to look about and see if Erestor was near, but the raw pain was too great, and so he played a game with the stone floor, seeing which of them could remain still the longest.

He thought he might be winning when a pair of intelligent gold eyes suddenly filled his field of vision. “Can you move?”

“Not really,” Glorfindel murmured in a cracked, burnt voice.

Erestor’s eyes traveled over his body and Glorfindel could tell he was worried.

The golden lord attempted a smile. His voice was a creaking whisper, “I have recovered from worse than this. The fire of orcs is nothing to the fire of a Balrog.”

“Your tears belie your statement,” Erestor argued.

“Oh, am I weeping?”

“Aye.”

“Huh,” Glorfindel wondered. “That’s odd.”

“I have to get you out of here.”

Glorfindel was too tired to argue.

***

This time he woke up shivering. Perhaps it was the miruvor or perhaps his own determination that had him healing at a surprising rate. But his skin only tingled now in remembrance of the fire, and naked on the stone floor he felt the chill abruptly.

It seemed darker than it had before. Maybe the distant torch had gone out? So Glorfindel did not see Erestor until the strong creature pulled the shivering form into strong naked arms. “Erestor?”

“We are Elves, and though we cannot freeze, we can still suffer from cold,” the rumbling voice hesitantly told him. “I know what it is to be cold. Let me warm you.”

Glorfindel was content in the embrace and relaxed within Erestor’s hold. “You are warm,” the lord sighed into the cold air. “I think I might be able to sleep like this.”

“Then do so,” Erestor suggested with a slightly irritated sigh.

And he did.

***

A straining tension lined Glorfindel’s back. He awakened to the feel of Erestor’s arms still warm and tight about him, but the dark Elf behind him had grown tense, and the feeling had spread to wake Glorfindel from his healing slumber. “What is it, Erestor?”

The counselor’s voice was a lowest pitch whisper. “Do you know what it is they do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Their purpose,” Erestor was quietly vehement. “Their intent, have you discerned it?”

Glorfindel remembered only the pain. “No.”

“I think I have,” came the answer, ever quieter than all the words before it.

Glorfindel shifted restlessly in the tightening embrace. “Then tell me,” he begged.

“Millennia ago, Elves were twisted, tortured to become orcs. Now, this new breed – these Uruk-hai – have been cultivated. They seek Elves now for these morbid experiments.” His voice sunk to a tremulous hiss, “I think they seek our immortality.”

“Until they have our spirits, they cannot have our eternity,” Glorfindel immediately answered.

Erestor pulled him close, burying his nose in the short length of golden hair to whisper, “You will not be able to tell them that.”

Glorfindel jumped with fright when Erestor flinched. “What is it?” he asked, sensing the other’s alarm.

Erestor rose into a crouch, releasing his grip and sniffing the air. Gold eyes flashed dangerously bright. “They come.”

Immediately Glorfindel began to shiver. His voice wavered with pain. “I do not want them to take me.”

Erestor made no answer. There was no comfort to be found in words. Instead, he gently squeezed Glorfindel’s shoulder and moved to the door to meet their captors.

Glorfindel was too weak to rise to battle, but he watched with pride as Erestor deftly murdered the first being to open the door. The next would be of little use in battle after Erestor had finished with him. But then the dark Elf was finagled into a set of mithril manacles and dragged along the darkened stairway.

Several orcs advanced into the open cell. Again, Glorfindel could do little, but he struggled valiantly with the last of his strength as they carried him to the cavern of fire and bound his body and set him aflame.

***

Mandos came to him in a dream. Even in sleep, the pain was real, but in this one dream so separate from life, all was peace and contentment. Glorfindel tried to explain this.

Mandos understood. How could he not? Death was his realm after all, and often accompanied by pain and torment. He smiled at the familiar face and offered words of comfort that would be forgotten upon waking.

Mandos really wasn’t so frightening, especially for all the long time Glorfindel had known him, and he radiated the wisdom and eternity common to all the Valar.

When Glorfindel awoke within the cell, he had indeed forgotten all the goodly advice and bold reassurances. The words were gone from memory, but their intent and their vehemence was not. The pain was seductive in its suggestion of peace by death, but now Glorfindel knew he must not give in. He must not.

And though the pain was undoubtedly worse, he felt it less and he retained a calm mind, a mind easily removed from the physicality of his existence. He could even smile a bit, had he a mind to.

But he did not; there was his friend to consider.

Glorfindel pushed himself upright, sitting cold and naked in their harsh stone cell to watch Erestor prowl in an endless circle about his prone form. On all fours. Feet and hands and wagging head created a protective circle as the creature grumbled and swayed.

“Erestor, please stop.”

Erestor looked, but did not stop.

“You worry me,” Glorfindel told him in a smoke-stained voice. Weary, he lay down again, following the other with his clear blue eyes. He patted the stone. “Come lay with me.”

Erestor finally ceased his stalking about to glare with confusion. The head tilt.

Glorfindel gave up on words and beckoned him nearer.

As though a wild animal nervous of threat or capture, Erestor edged near him, eventually consenting to lie beside him and find something akin to sleep.  
 Glorfindel blisslessly followed him into healing slumber.

***

A warm embrace surrounded him and Glorfindel moved closer within a possessive circle of arms. “Are you awake, Erestor?”

“You mean am I sane,” the Elf grumbled. “Aye.” He sighed, a sound piled with troubles and weariness. “The more often they take me, the longer I retreat into the Other.”

Glorfindel turned toward him. “I do not blame you.” He wrapped his arms in turn about the Maia-Elf’s sturdy frame, all too aware of the pain flaring throughout his tortured body. “I am cold.”

Erestor pulled Glorfindel a little closer. “What more can I do?”

Daring the tiniest intimacy, Glorfindel pushed Erestor onto his back and scrambled half atop him to rest his shorn head on a strong shoulder. “Nothing.”

***

The caged Elves took what rest they could, but each of them awoke simultaneously, though neither could say why.

“You have been badly burned.”

“Well,” Glorfindel sighed. “Yes.”

“Where do they take you?”

Ashamed, Glorfindel ducked his head close to Erestor’s chest. “I do not know. I block out as much as I can when they come.”

“I should like for you to tell me what you know of your torture; I think you can remember more than you think, should you attempt to do so.”

“Why?”

Erestor sighed and fidgeted just the smallest bit. “I have the beginnings of a plan. But I need to know where the fire cavern is.”

Glorfindel shrugged hopelessly.

“Please, try to remember. They take us out of the cell and up the stair. Then where?”

For Erestor’s sake, Glorfindel closed his eyes and opened his memory, casting back to his pre-torture journeys. He spoke in a low monotone. “Out the cell. Down the corridor. Up the stair. To the third level. The third level above us. There are doors. Wooden ones. Barred. But not magicked. There are many caves and corridors. But you need no more directions to find the fire. You can smell it. It is an opening. Beyond the opening is the cavern. They burn us.” Glorfindel wept and said no more. Erestor asked no more of him.

“Do not hide from consciousness, I pray you. Today is the day of our escape.”

“You are so certain?”

“I have to be.”

***

When the creatures came a third time, Erestor was ready for them, but did not kill as he had previously. He went struggling, but not vicious, though Glorfindel put up even less resistance than ever when they took him away and down the stone corridor and up the stone stair.

Determined to remain alert, for Erestor’s sake, Glorfindel slowed his breathing once they reached the smoky, hell-hot room. He observed everything with carefully brewed stoicism as they stretched his form upon an evil-looking rack and bound him and pinched at him and growled in their harsh tongue. Blue eyes widened with fear as hot pokers came near. He twisted in a vain effort to escape the blinding pain and shrieked with the madness of it when the red-hot iron met his already weakened flesh searing and scarring and horribly burning.

Time passed, and Glorfindel withdrew. Somewhere that had nothing to do with flesh and bone, he had carved out a niche where there was no feeling. It was a place Mandos had taught him to build, a place where the mind could rest, even if the body could not.

And as he dwelt there, remembering Erestor’s promise, he knew he could not remain always in the sanctuary of light and life. And so in this crevice of consciousness, he set to work building a window. Awareness of the outside pervaded, but there was no accompanying pain. It was as though he were outside his flesh, calmly watching as filthy hands pulled strips of bloody tissue from his body.

Time passed, and Glorfindel worried. Perhaps Erestor had lied to comfort him. Or perhaps something had happened. He objectively observed that his body really wasn’t doing so well, what with the vibrant red blood pooling around him and the white scars where they had cauterized unclean wounds.

Smoke billowed as always in this chamber of fire as the surrounding forest continuously fed the flaring flames. Glorfindel could see other Elves, or what was left of them, some being grotesquely twisted and resembling orcs more than Elves. Detached as he was, Glorfindel could only weep inwardly, unable to spare tears or breath or blood to heal their bodies or their spirits. As it was, he could not even heal himself.

Without warning, a shock rang through the chamber, a great orc horn blaring through the ever-deepening caves in reverberating shudders. In fact, the shock of it sent Glorfindel tumbling back into inglorious consciousness where the terrible overwhelming pain nearly sent him out of it again. A raw scream was ripped from his throat as sensation came crashing back into him. He twisted and writhed on the burning rack, until he forced himself to face the disturbance at the door.

The torturing bastards left their victims hanging as they were, grabbing up whatever was nearest them to face the Elves swarming into the chamber.

But this was no rescue mission, this was a breakout. Shirtless, water still streaming down his rippling muscles and long black hair, was Erestor leading the rampage of half-naked, half-dead, half-mad Elves, armed with the gutting orc-swords, rough pikes, and spears. They were merciless in their assault of the unprepared enemy, quickly freeing those in the fire chamber who could escape, and releasing the souls of those who could not.

Erestor shouted orders as he went and bounded over the bodies to Glorfindel’s side, breaking the iron bonds with his bare hands and gripping the golden warrior’s raw shoulders. Glorfindel stared, wide-eyed at his rescuer. “Water…”

Erestor quickly glanced about, but there was nothing in this war zone. Instead, he took the ends of dripping black hair and placed them in Glorfindel’s parched mouth.

Blue eyes closed and Glorfindel pulled what sustenance he could from the sopping black locks.

“Can you walk?”

Glorfindel weakly opened his eyes and shook his head, finding whatever strength he might still possess swiftly draining from him. “Erestor,” he gasped out. “I’ve a broken knee. They’ve slashed my feet and torn flesh from my thighs and severed my hamstrings. I don’t imagine I’ll be walking for quite some time.”

“What strength have you in your arms?”

“Enough.”

So, Glorfindel clambered upon Erestor’s strong back, wrapping weak arms about the thin neck. Erestor joined the small crew of Elves fighting tooth and nail for their very lives, slashing out and cutting down every enemy before them, and freeing others as they went.

Up from the depths, nearer and nearer to the proverbial light of day they moved; Glorfindel could feel it.

They burst from the earth like poison from a wound, hacking valiantly at the strong Uruk-hai that sought to overwhelm them in the dark night.

With freedom so close to hand, the Elves broke, scattering into the forests south, where they hoped to outrun the enemy. Erestor was nearly free of them, waiting to be sure all the other escapees had fled. The Maia-Elf was last to break from the fight, but it was too late, for the black horde had amassed and overcame him, pulling Glorfindel from his back like a parasite from a dog.

Pitched aside like so much useless baggage, the tortured Elf watched as Erestor turned upon his enemies, the sword dropping, the eyes going wild, the nails curving like claws toward the mass of shadow.

Like a creature possessed, Erestor fell upon them. An unnatural strength backed his untamed anger, lending his ferocity an immortal endurance. Like a wild thing reclaiming stolen territory he forged through the Uruks until he reached Glorfindel’s side. He heaved the naked Elf up in one arm and howled.

Curious, Glorfindel looked behind them as the Uruk-hai army, more than half of which was strewn on the ground in piles of indistinguishable flotsam, simply let them go.

The trees seemed to part before them, the leaves caressing his scorched face, as they escaped into the depths of the forest.

It seemed the worst was behind. Glorfindel fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

T’was the crackling sound of fire that awaked him. They had come for him again… But no. He had escaped. Erestor had rescued him, actually. And the fire?

Glorfindel opened his eyes and forced himself – no matter how it pained him – to sit up. A small fire burned in this small cavern. The cave wall, a welcome yellow hue veined in chalky red, wrapped around and over them, but the twinkling stars and dark black forest were visible at the mouth of the cave right before them. Should it have rained, Glorfindel would have lay just out of its path.

All this he saw within the space of a heartbeat. What truly caught him was the figure crouching round the fire, brown pants frayed to strips around his calves, but otherwise clinging to the well-defined leg muscles and naked from the waist up. The jumping firelight threw Erestor’s alien features into sharp relief, eyes black holes in the white face, his mouth a jagged line, his ears like antennae standing back from his head as the straggly hair fell in tangled strings. But still undeniably handsome.

“Erestor?”

Erestor tilted his head. His eyes glared blankly at him, dark with emotion but empty of thought.

“Erestor?”

The creature gave no reaction, mutely staring over the licking flames at him.

There was a fearful quaver now in Glorfindel’s voice. “Erestor?”

The feral Elven thing blinked and sniffed the air.

“Valar help us…”


	6. CHAPTER THE FOURTH: IT GETS WORSE BEFORE IT GETS BETTER

Glorfindel sat there, feeling like a lump of useless flesh. He felt exposed, naked as he was, and raw from the fire as though several layers of skin had been burnt away. Which, he reflected, they probably had been. He nervously reached up and felt only the few tufts of blonde hair that were left growing on his scabbing scalp. It did not really concern him: hair would grow back after all. But still, it felt like a blow to his pride.

In truth, he was sickened to look at his body now, covered in flaying burns and scars, black and white and red. All he needed was time. Though food, water, and decent shelter wouldn’t hurt.

He started as Erestor crawled around the fire and sat beside him on his haunches, licking his lips and eying him hungrily.

Glorfindel was a bit concerned. “I’m still a little rare yet, friend. Don’t go eating me all right? Erestor?” Glorfindel licked his own parched lips and asked, “Please, Erestor? Don’t you hear me at all?”

Gold eyes flared brightly, but still there was no comprehension there.

“I know you’re in there somewhere, Counselor. You started that fire, didn’t you? Now we need food and water, yeah?”

Erestor pushed at Glorfindel’s cheek with his nose. Glorfindel almost smiled at the gesture, but then Erestor drew away and he saw the tip of that odd nose smeared with blood. The dark Elf brushed along his own nose with his forearm and then licked until it was clean, repeating the gesture several times.

Reaching up, Glorfindel gently touched his own cheek. When he brought his hand away, it shown with blood. He remembered back to when he lay helpless on the ground, the orcs ignoring him as Erestor fought his way though, thought that perhaps he remembered one Uruk swiping a ragged set of claws at his face. Yes, that was probably it.

Glorfindel swallowed anxiously when Erestor loomed close, and then he felt a sand-papery tongue graze his cheek. The warm, pink tongue covered the whole of his face— gently nipping around wide eyes and behind pointed ears, over high cheekbones and around the tip of a chin before licking briefly at Glorfindel’s bloodied lips and pulling away, quite satisfied with himself.

Glorfindel eyed his friend’s lips, stained cherry red with his blood. “Well. Uh, thanks for that, Erestor.”

The creature pushed against him until Glorfindel lay flat and then stared at him as if to say ‘you need sleep.’

Glorfindel agreed, and though it took some time to find comfort near the small fire on the hard ground watched over by a feral animal, he closed wearied eyes and forced himself into a healing sleep.

***

The sound of friendly rain woke the injured Elf, and Glorfindel cracked open blue eyes to see the morning sun peeking through the spitting droplets. He was alone in the cave and looked nervously about. Erestor had been busy. The fire had grown, surrounding by many gathered rocks to form a pit for the thing and a spit sat high over the fire, something possum-sized hanging there.

Glorfindel was close enough to it to reach out and turn the carcass over. He grabbed up a pointed stick from nearby and jabbed it into part of the cooked flesh, peeling away some meat to chew on.

He gnawed contentedly for a moment before noticing a large leaf laid out on the rough cave floor, piled high with an assortment of berries. These he ate hungrily, for their juice sustained him almost like water.

Looking out longingly into the rain, Glorfindel wondered if he was strong enough to drag himself out there to open his mouth for a few swallows of water. But he thought not, because pain flared in him with every movement, and sitting up was still a challenge.

He chewed at the tough meat thoughtlessly and stared out into the daylight, smiling vaguely at the teasing sun that played rainbows through the sky at intermittent moments. But Glorfindel stopped suddenly when something large and dark caught his eye. He stilled, peering into the outlying line of trees.

It was Erestor, he was sure of it, though absolutely covered in mud. He was loping through the brush on all fours, sniffing occasionally at the undergrowth. Gold eyes turned toward the cave and Erestor stilled a moment, freezing like a nervous deer and blending in with the browns of the forest in his dirtied state. His eyes met Glorfindel’s and he tossed his head before turning away and disappearing back into the forest.

Before he knew it, Glorfindel spoke, shouting after the other, “Erestor, come back!”

But only green shadows dominated the hazy tree line, wet and gray and still.

Glorfindel took a deep breath, unwilling to admit to himself that he was frightened, alone and nearly helpless in an open cave. He turned his attention to the fire, trying not to lose himself in the hypnotizing crackle of the blaze.

***

He had not noticed Erestor’s return. One moment he was staring at the fire, the next he looked up to see wide gold eyes regarding him curiously. Most of the mud had been washed away in the rain, but Erestor’s wiry form was still covered in wet rivulets of brown and Glorfindel was suddenly reminded of the orc caves and Erestor’s constantly wet state. But then he looked down to see pure white hands cupping a huge green leaf. And in that carefully clasped leaf was pure, clear water.

Glorfindel didn’t think twice about bending his neck down to lap from the greenery, quenching his thirst in tiny gulps of what he had so long desired: clean, fresh, wonderful wonderful water!

He drank until only the leaf was left and his thirst nearly abated. He smiled at Erestor and said cheerily, “Thank you, Counselor! Much better.”

Erestor stared at him with some confusion before tossing the leaf aside and turning to the fire, adding some twigs and sticks from a pile he had previously amassed alongside one of the chalky yellow cave walls.

“We’ll get through this. Just you wait and see,” Glorfindel told his oblivious companion. “And we’ll get home just fine, and we’ll look back centuries from now,” he laughed as he spoke, turning brilliant blue eyes out to the clearing clouds, with the golden yellow sun pouring down. “And we’ll say one to the other, do you remember that time we went out on that crazy mission, just the two of us, and we made some crazy mistakes, and how we thought we might never make it back to sanity? Yeah, yeah, I remember, we’ll say. I remember when the nights were calm as sleeping butterflies and then dark as the bottom of the sea with nothing to guide us, and then free as eagles in the highest aeries. I remember. I remember.”

And then Glorfindel laid himself down on the cool, cool earth and smiled through the hazy pain of the former three days and reflected upon what would be and what had been and what might be until he fell fast asleep under watchful golden eagle eyes.

***

He awoke to warmth. And a soft rumbling. “Erestor? Are you… purring?” Glorfindel turned out of his sleep to see Erestor close beside him, one strong leg and one strong arm wrapped across Glorfindel’s healing body. He had to admit it was warm. And yes, Erestor was purring, a deep rumble of a quality he had never heard before. He’d heard Erestor growl and howl and snort. And it was like these sounds because it was an animalistic sound. But it was unlike these because it was content and free of anger or sorrow or humor. It was Erestor sleeping. And it comforted him.

***

The next time Glorfindel awoke, it was to a rough, wet sensation somewhere along his collarbone, where shoulder met neck. He cocked his head to see Erestor dutifully cleaning him with dainty swipes of his long, pink tongue.

“That’s enough,” Glorfindel told him, with a gentle push at the Maia-Elf’s bare shoulder.

Erestor started and turned to him with a warning growl. The golden eyes were dangerous and fierce.

“Then again, I don’t imagine I am very clean,” Glorfindel said in a whisper as Erestor went back to the task of grooming him.

Glorfindel lay still a very long time.

***

“What have you got there, Erestor? A muskrat! What an excellent hunter you are! Thank you.”

Glorfindel accepted the recent kill from Erestor’s jaws and carefully skinned and gutted the thing before shoving it onto a stick and placing it over the fire to cook. The red blood stained his hands and he no longer flinched when Erestor came over to lay beside him and lick his hands clean. The sound of the crackling fire, and the popping noises it made when the rat’s blood plopped down into the burning cinders was loud in the cave, and Glorfindel had to strain his ears to hear the low rumbling purr of his companion, which had become more pronounced through the day.

“Well,” Glorfindel said agreeably when Erestor finished his task, “I think we’ve managed quite well for ourselves this past day. Or rather, you’ve taken excellent care of me.” He smiled when Erestor laid his dark head in Glorfindel’s lap and nosed against his thigh. “Oh all right,” he laughed, running a gentle hand through the hair he had untangled not an hour before. “I remember a night not so long ago on a riverbank when you seemed quite uncertain about me touching your hair. But now you’re just a big fluffy puppy, aren’t ya?” Glorfindel scratched behind Erestor’s long, pointed ear and received an increased rumbling for his efforts. “Thought so!”

***

Glorfindel ate his meal and Erestor scattered the bones somewhere outside, far away from the cave. When he returned, he brought more wood to stack along the wall, and Glorfindel watched in thoughtful quietude. “Where are you, Erestor, that you can’t find your way back to me?”

He wondered at his own words when the Other looked at him. “That’s right, you recognize your name now, huh?” Glorfindel was very proud of himself. “And I taught you a new word, didn’t I? Erestor, COME!” he commanded, and the dark Elf left the woodpile to leap across the cave and crouch there to stare avidly at Glorfindel.

The Elf smiled sadly, running his hand through his own short golden hair that had already begun to grow that day. “Listen, Erestor, I know it’s silly for me to be talking to you like this, but I was hoping you might understand me, just a little, you know? And you take very good care of the fire, but it’s still cold at night,” he glanced outside where only a little of the sun’s light lingered in the growing darkness, “And I thought you could lay beside me like before, hey? And keep me warm. Cause you’re always warm.” He thoughtlessly reached out a tender hand to caress Erestor’s face, and the creature nuzzled into his palm with a low growl. Glorfindel thought his friend might even be smiling.

“Well. We’ll see,” Glorfindel said, continuing to pet the seemingly tame being. “We’ll see.”

***

It was not long after that when Glorfindel lay on a pile of dry, green leaves that Erestor had brought in, a small comfort that seemed a luxury. He curled onto his side and smiled. He could slowly feel his body healing itself. There was still pain; there would be for a while yet, but they were free of that horrid place and Erestor was taking care of him and everything would be okay.

Whatever sense drove Erestor’s civilized actions Glorfindel did not know, but he did know that all the animal skins they had amassed had been washed and beaten and were drying outside on the near rocks and that he himself had fashioned several pins from the animal bones and that he might soon have something to clothe himself in for their eventual return to society.

He could not walk yet, not without more pain than he could really stand, but he would be able to soon and that was a certain comfort.

And at times throughout that long first night and day, Erestor had done frightening things, but Glorfindel still felt oddly protected and safe.

And so he smiled as he lay there naked on a pile of green leaves, his pale skin completely healed of open wounds and even now regaining its common golden glow. The scars would last he knew, possibly indefinitely. But what warrior was without scars? His hair would grow back, as would Erestor’s tail. He could already see the nub of it healing and fur beginning to push its way through.

Erestor himself though; Glorfindel worried about that. Never had he so long been in the control of ‘the Other’ as Erestor called it. And that simple fact alone was worrisome. So Glorfindel sighed wearily as the dark creature lay behind him and wrapped him in a possessive embrace and Glorfindel whispered again, “Erestor come back to me,” as he had already whispered to himself countless times that day.

***

Glorfindel floated somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, a part of his mind desperate for more slumber, and another part of his mind telling to wake up right now, because something was wrong.

He fought off the feeling, content to lay in distant repose for as long as he wished, but some part of him continued the restless argument and protested his slumber.

Glorfindel grumbled inaudibly to himself, longing for that tranquility his body had booted him out from. But then he realized something indeed was not right; something was extremely uncomfortable.

He had turned to lay on his back, which was alright, but he felt the strong form beside him. He knew it was Erestor, Erestor clutching at him and grinding a leather-clad hardness into his hip with animalistic fervor and supernatural strength.

Jolted to full awareness, Glorfindel’s eyes shot open and all his muscles at once clenched into stiff fear. He tried to move out of the embrace and turned to see Erestor with eyes closed as he rubbed against him.

It was then that Erestor bent his head to teethe sharply at Glorfindel’s exposed neck and to suddenly move his hands along his belly and to growl lowly against him as he moved rhythmically and Glorfindel – absolutely terrified by the sudden force and incoherency and blinding fright of it all – shouted, “No! Erestor stop!”

But Erestor did not understand. And he reached down to free himself from the restricting garment and Glorfindel seized the opportunity to grab Erestor’s wrist and push as hard as he could, twisting the arm and forcing him away.

Erestor instinctively bit at the hand that hurt him as he was jolted out of the sexual frenzy to nurse his wrist even as Glorfindel brought his own hand into his chest to push against the bite mark, wondering at the instinctive reactions from both of them. Glorfindel sat up and scooted toward the fire, eyeing Erestor mistrustfully. “I know you didn’t mean it,” Glorfindel said, shocked to find his own voice a barely intelligible shudder. It took him a moment to realize that tears streamed down his scarred face as he hunched into himself with the terrible fright of it all, still not daring to look away from Erestor who had easily recovered from the pain, which had been more of a shock to the poor creature than anything else. He merely crouched in the corner, looking wounded and confused.

“You have no conception at all, do you?” Glorfindel asked in a halting whisper. “You have no right and wrong. All you have is this!” he hissed with an irritable gesture at the mockery of comfort and civilization that surrounded them. “Go!” he screamed in a strangled cry. “Go Erestor, go chase mice!” He pointed a shaking finger to the nighttime forest.

Erestor cocked his head, confused golden eyes regarding him with no more intelligence than a cow.

Glorfindel bowed his head and wept.

***

The next morning, Glorfindel began teaching Erestor a new word. He held the wriggling beetle out between two fingers.  
 Erestor swiped at it.

“STOP!” Glorfindel commanded, pulling it back.

Erestor stopped and tilted his head.

They continued the lesson long into the afternoon.

***

“More water?” Glorfindel asked as Erestor cautiously crept in, holding a water-filled leaf carefully in his hands. “Thank you,” Glorfindel acknowledged, again drinking from the makeshift ladle. When he finished, Erestor made as if to again toss the leaf aside, but Glorfindel shouted, “STOP!” and Erestor froze, looking at him.

Glorfindel held out his hand and Erestor eventually got the message, handing him the leaf. “That’s good,” Glorfindel said. “That’s very good, Erestor. Thank you.”

***

The day progressed in similar fashion, and Glorfindel never ceased to keep a wary eye on Erestor and his unpredictable behavior. They ate in one-sided conversation of the meat that Erestor caught and the fruit he collected, and Glorfindel allowed him to lick his hands, if for no other reason than he had no other way to clean them.

Finally he had four furs to work with and Glorfindel set about pinning together a short skirt, fitting the grey and brown furs about his waist. “It’s hardly top Lorien fashion,” he told his friend. “But I think it will do.”

Erestor looked at him, obviously unimpressed and wondering why he would be wearing dead things. For whatever reason, he never really seemed bothered by his own leather pants that fit like a second skin. “What?” Glorfindel asked. “It’s not as if you have good taste anyway.”

Erestor snorted.

And Glorfindel thought about the night ahead and whether it would be too cold with the incoming wind that had built up during the day or if Erestor would even allow him to sleep alone.

***

So Glorfindel was of two minds that night when Erestor gathered him in his arms and they lay before the glowing fire and listened to the howling wind. Glorfindel lay a long time in silence, too weary and confused himself to sing to the stars and too confused and fearful to sleep, at least not for a very long time.

***

Still, when something told him it was time to wake up, he did so quickly, finding Erestor again humping against his leg and groaning and pulling at him and touching him and he was ready, shouting, “Erestor STOP!”

And Erestor slowed, opening one bleary gold eye.

“Stop!” Glorfindel commanded with a small shove against the pale white chest.

Erestor huffed a bit, and he pulled Glorfindel close again, but he ceased his movements, and Glorfindel did not sleep again after that, feeling the hard length pressing against him though Erestor did not move.

He shivered and sent up a prayer and whispered, “Erestor, come back to me.”

***

Erestor shrugged himself out of sleep while the stars still sang to pad out of the cave to relieve himself and to find something in the way of breakfast.

Glorfindel lay on the pile of flattened leaves, cold in the chill, pre-morning air and wishing for things that could not be.

Eventually, he sat up and fighting the pain, he forced himself to his feet. He quickly sat back down, letting out a string of strong curses about orcs and their origins as he pulled himself along the ground like a broken-legged horse to the other side of the cave where the pile of twigs lay to build up the fire that Erestor had neglected.

He sat before the growing blaze, looking out to the dark sky, knowing the morning would come before long, and patiently awaiting the inevitable rise of the sun.

Then, a loud howl broke the stillness of pre-dawn and he snapped to attention, peering into the hazy grayness outside. That was not an Erestor sound; Glorfindel knew what those sounded like. This was a wolf howl; Glorfindel also knew what those sounded like, and it was far too close for comfort.

A memory came slamming back out of the blue, of a quiet night of travel when Erestor had calmly told him how he could hear the wolves howling in the mountains. Glorfindel absurdly wondered if it was these same wolves now. He wondered if the glowing eyes emerging from the tree line were those same wolves that had called to Erestor only a few nights ago.

Wolves could scent as well as an Uruk-hai, certainly. They knew something injured and defenseless was in this cave.

Glorfindel looked quickly about. None of the broken twigs for the fire would serve as a weapon. He picked up a warm rock from the edge of the fire pit – a sharp one – and waited.

The reflecting lights came nearer, pairs of golden twinkles, ominous and eerie. There were three of them. Four. Maybe more.

Their large, black forms loomed out of the darkness and soon he could see the firelight reflecting off wrinkled muzzles, wet and gray. A flash of white teeth. The eyes never wavered.

Some of them made muted whining noises to each other.

They were hungry.

Glorfindel drew nearer to the fire as the pack – seven in all – surrounded the cave opening, effectively cutting off any exits, had he been capable of making use of them. The first wolf, the big one, placed one huge paw into the entrance of the cave. It seemed unnaturally large on the black animal, though the muzzle was marked with gray. The claws were sharp, and so were the teeth peeking through curled black lips. The ears were wary, the nose black and wet.

And those golden eyes hit far too close to home for Glorfindel. The wolf approached and all he could suddenly think was that he had been comparing Erestor to cats and eagles all this time. But that was wrong.  
 This wolf, this wild predator before him probably understood Erestor far better than Glorfindel ever would, and the hand that held the rock lay limp and lifeless as he sat in his makeshift skirt behind the protection of the fire.

What use was a rock against a pack of starving wolves?

The sudden thought hit him that he was more frightened and certain of death now, faced with these creatures, than he ever had been while in the clutches of the orcs. This seemed so much more real, so much closer even than the burning fires in the cave.

And that wolf, the big black one, the old one, he had to be the leader. The alpha, Glorfindel thought; that’s what the leaders were called. That hungry, wild animal took one step around the burning fire.

But it never came any nearer.

A gruesome howl sounded, close and angry. The wolves halted, their flashing eyes searching the darkness, turning away from their prey for the first time. Erestor’s howl sounded again, twice as near.

Glorfindel stared in amazement as Erestor came tearing out of the darkness to leap protectively in front of him, the fringes of his leather pants whipping about as he shifted his stance, staring down that alpha wolf and growling low under his breath.

The black wolf growled, his head low as he bared his teeth and slowly wagged his great shaggy tail, clawing the earth.

Erestor stepped closer, raising himself onto his feet and letting his arms hang loose in front of him as though he had risen to hind legs to look down on his enemy. Then he again settled into a crouch, his knuckles supporting his weight as well as his feet and he inched nearer the threat, snapping his teeth and glaring ferociously at the large wolf.

The wolf took a step back, wagging his great head and whining.

Erestor howled lowly.

The alpha turned his back and left the cave. The wolves fled.

And Erestor came whirling around practically barreling toward the fire to land on Glorfindel and push him to his back. The rock went flying out of his hand to clatter against the wall. Terrified blue eyes stared up into frightened gold. Erestor nuzzled into his neck and Glorfindel wound his arms about the creature, willing all this madness to go away.

But it wouldn’t.

Their breaths heaved with the sudden fright of it all and the adrenaline flooded their bodies and they desperately held on to one another, fearful of loosing their one connection to home and to comfort in this sad empty place.

Glorfindel cried out in pain when Erestor sank his teeth into a bare, scarred shoulder. Glorfindel hugged Erestor to him as tight as was physically possible, unconscious of the pain being licked away by a rough velvet tongue, knowing only that he wanted to be sure Erestor would always be there just like this to protect him, uncaring of that strange, demanding bite that even now bled profusely and stung horribly. There would be a scar, he was sure of it.

Tears of relief escaped vibrant blue eyes and Glorfindel clawed at Erestor’s back as if to say ‘never leave me again, not ever.’

And Erestor was moving against him, as he had in the night. Erestor was suddenly licking and nibbling and biting all over and clawing viciously at him and he reached down to claw away the leather pants, and to tear away Glorfindel’s skirt of furs and they were both aroused and hard and dripping and they were absolutely mad with the frenzy.

In a fit of passion they wound together, animals in the early morning as Erestor eagerly took what was his, mouthing at Glorfindel’s body and touching him without restraint, pushing his scarred legs up to his chest and carelessly shoving himself in that tiny, tight opening.

Glorfindel howled at the thoughtless entry, and he knew he was bleeding and it hurt, it hurt so bad, but he didn’t care; he just didn’t care. He wrapped his legs around the other and he pulled Erestor into him and the wild creature thrust in as far as he would go, the blood easing his way now and they screamed as they moved madly together, at once lost to the world, but found to each other.

Nothing mattered; thought abandoned that cave as they pushed and pulled at one another and growled and shrieked.

Glorfindel forced Erestor’s head down into a brutal kiss, a tearing of lips and teeth. It was not a loveless kiss, but it was a hard and a demanding and a desperate kiss that was not without blood.

Glorfindel felt as though he was being pounded into the earth, but he absolutely loved it and without words demanded more, more than he could take, more than he could stand, more, even though it never seemed to be enough. He returned Erestor’s claiming nips and bites and again found those thin lips that tasted of blood.

Erestor speeded his frantic movements and Glorfindel cried out, oblivious to the world and the cave and the everything else that made up his life. Just then, only the moment mattered. Only the moment. It was a moment of thoughtless ecstasy, yes thoughtless. Only the feelings mattered, only the pain and the pleasure and the total bliss and the joining, the joining with this creature. With Erestor.

And that creature arched his back and howled in a desperate call of triumph as he emptied himself into the willing vessel beneath him.

Sated, they collapsed, an entwined mess of flesh, slick with sweat and semen and blood, the yellow dirt of the cave clinging to their sticky bodies.

During the minutes of sunrise, the only sounds in the cave were the crackling of the dying fire and the panting of the two bodies, heaving their heavy breaths.

Glorfindel closed his eyes, his over-wide pupils sensitive to the golden rays of Arien peeking over the trees, and allowed himself to drift in the heady lightness and just let the pleasurable waves of euphoric satiation sweep over him.

He vainly wished he could see Erestor’s golden eyes looking at him in love and in devotion and in that moment of wishing, Glorfindel pushed away the resultant realization, refusing to listen to whatever part of him was insisting that he loved this unique, amazing creature who was beautiful and courageous and good. He wished in vain to see those eyes, but Erestor’s face was turned away and Glorfindel did not truly want to see it, because he knew the expression would not be filled with any sort of affection or fondness or care. There would only be golden eyes, clear and beautiful and cold.

Glorfindel sighed, his rising chest pushing up against the weighty form atop him. “Erestor? Erestor, you are too heavy,” Glorfindel said, pushing against the shoulder covering his own.

Erestor let out a gentle sigh and a quiet snore. He was sleeping.

“Wonderful,” Glorfindel sighed, taking advantage of the situation to gently massage the gleaming skin beneath his sensitive fingertips. He groaned as the ecstasy faded from his body, leaving him all too aware of the blood dripping down between his legs, painful and stinging, and the dirt covering his still healing body, and the rocks digging into his back. “Okay, Erestor, you have to move,” Glorfindel said loudly, pushing more insistently at his friend’s heavy form.

Erestor grunted and awoke, turning to look at him. A fuzziness of uncertainty filled the glazed, golden eyes a moment before Erestor truly saw him. He made an odd expression that Glorfindel could never recall seeing, like a smile. Much like a wolf’s smile, Glorfindel thought, an expression that could mean many things. But then Erestor leaned close over him to lick from the tip of Glorfindel’s nose up to his forehead.

Glorfindel stared in shock a moment at the affectionate gesture and the quirky, wolfish smile. Then, he let out a gorgeous, ringing laugh full of joy and hope as Erestor began licking all over his face in sloppy, puppy kisses that Glorfindel thoroughly enjoyed as he laughed and pretended to half-heartedly push Erestor away as the sun shone down upon them within their haven cave.

Pulling back the tiniest bit, Erestor caught Glorfindel’s hand in his own – the one he had earlier bitten – and placed a tender lick against the superficial wound in an apology of sorts. Then, he continued a downward path, using that rough velvet tongue to clean away the salty sweat and semen, leaving Glorfindel feeling a bit more refreshed, and very loved. His laughter faded and he looked down with awe in his wide, blue eyes as Erestor shamelessly cleaned the more delicate parts of him without a qualm, his tongue gently lapping at the spent shaft.

Glorfindel’s head rolled back and he gasped as Erestor moved lower, tenderly licking away the blood. He squeezed shut his eyes and tried to relax his parted legs so as not to scare off the gentle invasion.

Erestor then moved away, sitting back on his haunches to look inquisitively at Glorfindel as if to say, ‘what next?’

Screwing up his courage, Glorfindel sat back up, ignoring the pain – though it lessened even as he moved – to look Erestor in the eye and beckon him nearer with a soft, “Come.”

Erestor padded closer until they sat nose to nose and Glorfindel hesitantly reached out to stroke the smooth, pale face of alien angles and planes. Erestor’s brows lowered in a question, but then he turned his cheek, pushing trustingly into the caress, again with that wolf-like smile on a contented face. “Erestor,” Glorfindel whispered, his breath stirring the tangled strings of knarled black hair framing Erestor’s face. “What spell have you cast upon me, my friend?” He leaned in to kiss those pink-pale lips, gently exploring the hot mouth. Erestor seemed confused, but haltingly returned the foreign gesture, growing surer with each swipe of the tongue as their mouths mated.

When Glorfindel attempted to pull back, Erestor followed him until he straddled Glorfindel’s legs, refusing to leave the contact of the kiss as he delved into Glorfindel’s innate sweetness.

Glorfindel smiled, nearly breaking the connection with a laugh, but he let Erestor have his fill until the wolf-like creature finally sat back, licking his lips with a smug glance.

The sudden growl of Glorfindel’s stomach broke the silence and then he did laugh, and he smiled as Erestor gave a quick kiss. “I see I’ve taught you something new today,” Glorfindel grinned, and Erestor took off out of the cave in search of food, the shreds of brown leather still clinging to his legs.

***

Erestor reappeared not five minutes later, laden down with berries and other edible vegetation that he laid at Glorfindel’s feet like some sort of tribute. Foregoing his meat for the time being, Erestor sat beside him and they ate of the earth’s bounty together, enjoying licking up the spilled juices from one another’s lips.

They built up the fire to keep it going and threw in the skins and seeds from their meal. Glorfindel sang as he threw in the seeds from the one apple Erestor had brought back into the fire pit, “If he loves me, pop and fly; if he hates me lie and die!” He laughed when the apple seeds sparked and popped in the fire. Erestor gave him an odd look.

“It’s tradition, silly,” Glorfindel said with a laugh, giving Erestor a quick kiss. “It means you love me!” Erestor may not have understood the words, but he obviously enjoyed the action and was quick to return it, if a little more deeply. “Mm,” Glorfindel said appreciatively, “you’re a quick study.”

Erestor growled in agreement and pounced. Glorfindel gave up and could only laugh as he landed on his back and was assaulted, albeit a bit more gently than before. Erestor moved over him and nibbled at his ear and Glorfindel arched his back and moaned brazenly, pulling the other closer.

They thrust lazily together; Erestor sought no entry, but even though he was still pained, Glorfindel would not have denied him. Even so, the Elves were content to move against one another in a driving motion until one spilled their seed after the other.   
  ***

They lazed the day away in quiet touches and gentle kisses, occasionally throwing more fuel to the fire.

Whenever Erestor made as if to leave the cave, Glorfindel bid him, “Stop,” and would not let him go. “I don’t care about food or fire,” he told Erestor near the end of the day, just before the sun began to set, “for when I am hungry, your soul infuses me with strength, and when I am cold, your heart infuses me with warmth.” He grinned conspiratorially and kissed his feral lover.

Erestor eagerly returned the expression, but then he suddenly pulled away to glare out into the forest, growling lowly.

Glorfindel gripped his shoulder. “What is it?”

Erestor eased forward toward the lip of the cave and Glorfindel let him go, turning his attention out toward the trees, listening carefully for whatever had stolen Erestor’s attention.

The golden-headed Elf, whose hair was nearly an inch long already, perked up at the sound of fleet-footed horses in the distance. “Erestor; I believe our rescue party has arrived!”

But Erestor did not seem to think so as his fingers clawed into the earth and he glared avidly into the wood.

The horses came nearer until Glorfindel saw flashing manes and rippling Elven hair between the green forest leaves. “Erestor, it’s okay; it’s the Guard!”

The horses seemed to fly when they broke the line of trees, galloping at speed toward the small cave, ringing voices calling, “Here, we’ve found them!” and “Sound the horn!”

“Hail Glorfindel, are you well?” Captain Palandil shouted from the head of her troop, auburn hair whipping out behind her as a bright horn sung out in victory.

Without warning, Erestor shot out toward the incoming Guard, wildly barking, his eyes flashing. “Erestor, no! STOP!” Glorfindel screamed. Erestor curbed himself to a halt, but he did not retreat back into the cave, still staring a warning out at the riders.

Sensing the danger, the horses slowed and Palandil wisely raised her arm and turned her riders back. She called to the back of the ranks, twelve riders in all, “Go! Fetch Lord Elrond! Quickly!”

The last two riders turned back into the trees and as Glorfindel listened, he could hear more troops within the forest, their mounts moving northward somewhere beyond his sight.

Barely five minutes passed, but they were minutes of horrific fear and confusion as the horses and their riders carefully watched the feral Erestor, who carefully watched them in return. Glorfindel could only sit in his cave and gather the furs self-consciously about his waist as Palandil surveyed the situation with a careful eye.

When the two sentries returned, Elrond and his own large party rode close behind.

Elrond rode forward toward the cave and Palandil shouted, “I would halt, my Lord; Counselor Erestor is not in his right mind, though Glorfindel appears unharmed.”

Elrond halted beside the Captain and gracefully slipped from his mount. He nodded to show that he had heard and held up a hand, gesturing for the thirty mounted soldiers to remain where they were.

Without his robes, the Lord looked like little more than a common traveler, but he carried himself like a warrior and slowly approached. He ignored Glorfindel completely and had eyes only for the feral Erestor. His steps were light but deliberate and whenever Erestor gave out a low growl, he would halt a moment before proceeding. The troops watched in confused silence and Glorfindel with bated breath when Elrond finally stood above his Counselor.

Carefully, Elrond sat on the ground, the failing sun glinting unnatural reddish highlights in his black hair, pulled back from his face in a simple leather thong. He crossed his legs with hands on his thighs and he stared into Erestor’s golden eyes.

Minutes passed in fidgeting silence until all traces of the sun were gone and the stars sung above them. Now the silver light shown down on the two dark Elves, who never broke eye contact in these moments of the unknown.

Glorfindel saw no indication that anything had passed between them, but of a sudden, Elrond raised his hand to lay it aside Erestor’s head and he said to him, “Awake.”

For a moment it seemed Erestor froze, as if the very blood in his veins had ceased to flow in a single heartbeat. And then he collapsed in on himself, fists pounding the earth as he let out a terribly conscious wail of terror and humiliation. Elrond stood and gestured to the nearest soldier. Elladan quickly leapt off his horse to pass over a blanket, which Elrond deftly threw around Erestor’s sobbing shoulders. He crouched there beside his Chief Counselor, his hands on those shaking shoulders as he gave his quiet orders. “I will see to this one. Elladan, take care of Glorfindel. I’m sure he’s fine, but don’t let him do more than he’s capable of. You’ll have to lift him onto a horse and ride with him.”

In the cave, several familiar faces approached and caring hands reached out to him. Glorfindel accepted the blanket and the water flask, murmuring his assurances that yes, he was well, and yes, they could carry him if they must, and no, he wasn’t hungry.

He lost sight of Elrond and Erestor somewhere between the cave and the horse and he easily wrapped his arms about the Elf in front of him – he thought it might be Elladan, or Elrohir – as they made their way back toward the House.

He listened vaguely as Palandil, riding beside him, spoke to him under the starlight. “The guards on the border saw your warning, that firework of Mithrandir’s. But by the time a sufficient party arrived, you had already escaped. We were searching for three days and nights; Erestor carried you far from that hole to the base of the Misty Mountains…”

Glorfindel drifted into trance, oblivious to her sweet voice.


	7. EPILOGUE (in other words THE END)

Glorfindel awoke with the sun in his eyes. He sighed and stretched his recovered muscles, still feeling the echoes of pain there in his body, especially in his legs. He shrugged off the vestiges of sleep with a toss of his head, throwing up one arm to yawn widely in a true greeting of the morning.

He looked out his window to watch the falling leaves, a slow rain of red and orange and brown that fluttered softly behind the shutters and sills. Eventually, he forced himself to sit up, the white linen sheets and pale blue blanket falling to his waist. He idly scratched along a deep scar at his belly before swinging severely scarred legs over the side of the bed.

He took a breath and stood, awkwardly swinging his arms a moment to gain his balance. He spent a few minutes in exercise, carefully stretching his limbs the way Lord Elrond had instructed him until he felt limber enough to limp to the wash basin where he tossed some water on his face to help him wake up, wetting the golden hair that now reached just past his shoulders. He shook the droplets from his hands and moved cautiously to the wardrobe to dress himself.

He twisted on the simple breechclout and pulled up deep gray hose, thick and wooly for the wintering weather. He threw on a white shirt and shrugged into a deep blue doublet that buckled up the front, thoughtlessly tying the points from hose to doublet with fine blue ribbon as his gaze wandered the room, unseeing. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and pulled on the fashionable sleeves, tying them in place at the shoulders with more of that expensive blue ribbon before pulling tufts of the white shirt through the slashed sleeves to create the stylish puffed effect. A fine blue satin ribbon with lace dagging pulled the gold hair into a small, simple ponytail, some shorter less manageable strands hanging in fine gold wisps about his face. He sat upon the padded chair at his desk to pull on soft suede shoes of some indefinable gray before shuffling to the door where he picked up the dark mantle that he’d thrown across the extra chair the night before. It was a dull color, almost black, and suited his mood admirably. He pinned the mantle at his right shoulder with a golden fibula and glared at his reflection. “Today is the day,” he told himself. “He can’t hide from me forever.” He picked up the mithril-handled walking cane and left his room behind him.

***

He stalked down the marble hallway, as well as he was able, nodding gruff hellos to those he passed. When he finally reached Elrond’s office, he rapped upon the door with the head of his cane and then folded his hands over the mithril ball as he set the cane’s foot upon the floor, waiting expectantly.

The door opened inward, revealing a weary half-Elf whose gray eyes were filled with worry. “Ah, come in Glorfindel. You are not unexpected.”

“You have been busy,” the blond Elf said in an accusatory tone, his cane clicking on the floor as he swept in the room.

“I see you are getting about much better. I doubt you will even need the cane tomorrow,” Elrond told him as they settled in the carven chairs before the fireplace blazing happily in the otherwise cool room.

“Yes,” Glorfindel nodded a quick agreement. “But that’s not what I am here about. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Now, Glorfindel, my old friend, you know that’s not true.”

Glorfindel glared.

“Everything has been very hectic around here and you know it. I trust Palandil has kept you informed.”

“Aye, you’re right in that,” he admitted of the Captain. “She’s told me all she knows of the orc-camp, and the many others that have sprung up across the land. The experiments. These new Uruk-hai. It’s horrid. But I’m not here about that either.”

“Erestor,” Elrond murmured.

Glorfindel only nodded.

“What would you have me say?”

“I would have you say _anything_ ,” Glorfindel begged without shame, his blue eyes wide and desperate. “Anything at all. Elrond, I truly begin to think you have no idea of what I’ve gone through since you came marching in to rescue us.”

“What you’ve gone through?” Elrond echoed in oblivious confusion.

“Yes. Elrond, consider it: I know much of what you know in regards to our friend, but then he gets . . . well, stuck in this feral form. For three days! I’m dependent upon this unpredictable creature, I’m naked and crippled and frightened. Then you come swooping in, cure him of whatever had a hold upon him and he virtually disappears. Elrond, do you truly know that I have not seen Erestor for three months? That no one I ask can tell me anything at all of him? That you are rarely available even for a cup of tea when I seek you out? For all I know, Erestor has left Imladris completely. For all I know he’s had a relapse and you’ve caged him up somewhere for his own good. For all I know, he’s dead.”

Elrond stared at Glorfindel, who stared right back with those distressed blue eyes. “Glorfindel, truly, I had not realized . . .”

“That is what I thought. So. Can you tell me something? I ask again, can you tell me anything?”

Sitting back in his chair, Elrond fiddled with an empty glass on the table between them. “Erestor is well, he is still here. He speaks only with me, and then only shortly. He is ensconced in his rooms.”

“Which, by the way,” Glorfindel interrupted, “No one can locate.”

Elrond looked a little guilty. “They are rather squirreled away.”

“I must speak with him, Elrond. Do you have any concept of what happened between us? What happened in the bowels of the earth where Mordor’s evil ensnared us? What happened in the three days and three nights we spent alone in a hollowed overhang in the side of a mountain?”

“Only what he has told me,” Elrond admitted, gray eyes large and wary.

“And what has he told you?” Glorfindel softly demanded.

“Very little.” Elrond couldn’t quite manage to meet Glorfindel’s open, unguarded gaze. “He explained the torture you underwent. Fire,” Elrond murmured, as if worried he might upset the blond, but Glorfindel only stared harshly at him. Elrond cleared his throat. “Yes, while you were in that cavern of fire, Erestor had been taken down even further into the caves. Water torture. He explained it to me in great detail, but I must admit I have no stomach for it.” Elrond shifted away, fiddling with the fabric of his robes. “He told me of the escape, how he managed to orchestrate everything very quickly when the opportunity arose. And then when you were threatened outside, above the caves, how he . . . lost himself.” Elrond’s voice was little more than a whisper. “He confessed that he remembered everything that happened after that in that cave in the mountainside, though spoke little of those events. He said you spoke often to him, but that he did not understand you and still cannot know the meaning of whatever words you may have said. He said that he brought food, water, built the fire. He said wolves nearly attacked.”

“Oh?” Glorfindel asked. “Really?” His voice grew loud and demanding and his blue eyes were fierce as Elrond finally turned to meet them. “Then he spoke nothing of what truly passed between us? Of how he licked the blood from my face and held me close to keep me warm? He spoke nothing of his desires? Of how he moved against me in the night? He spoke nothing of how frightened we both were when those wolves came? Of how he claimed me afterwards? He spoke nothing of the passion between us? Of the love? At least on my part. He spoke nothing of it. Not to you. I understand that.”

Elrond’s eyes had grown impossibly huge.

Glorfindel’s strength seemed to simply drain from him after his confession and his voice was rough. He looked away and Elrond watched the beautiful face with four claw marks still visible across the whole of it that had slowly faded into fine, white scars. “Then tell me, Elrond, where he is, that I might confront him. That I might speak of the passion between us. And the love on my part. That I might at least speak to him once, even if he should decide never to speak to me in return.”

Shaken, Elrond nodded. He spoke as he rose to his feet, his voice tremulous and soft. “You have to speak to him,” Elrond agreed, as if attempting to convince himself of the truth of his words. Glorfindel stood, taking care as he did so, and Elrond met his eyes. “He’s terribly frightened,” Elrond confided, “and terribly ashamed. I did not understand the extent of this . . . until you told me . . . Well,” he finally said. “I will show you the way.”

***

The clicking cane was the only noise they made as Elrond led the way out of his office and down the hall to a servant’s stair. Up they went, three flights up to the highest floor in that wing of the House. Then Elrond glanced furtively about before pushing in a panel of the wall directly before him, revealing a hidden stair. Up they went again, climbing the rickety narrow steps, and Glorfindel realized that when he and Elrond had teased the Counselor about his ‘attic rooms’ they had been speaking the truth. The pair of Elves walked down a tiny, windowless corridor, ducking their heads to keep from banging them against the peak of the ceiling above them, which formed the peak of the roof outside. They passed a few storage rooms before the hallway ended in a simple, wooden door, marked with layers of deep scratches forebodingly reminiscent of claw marks.

Elrond raised his hand to knock, but then withdrew, turning to face his friend. “I believe it best if I leave you here. If what you say is true, and I have no reason to doubt you, this is a matter between only the two of you.”

Glorfindel nodded and they awkwardly moved about one another, trading places in the tiny hallway.

“And Glorfindel,” Elrond said, laying a hand on the gray mantled shoulder, “remember his nature. Both his natures. I wish you the best of luck.”

Glorfindel gave only a sharp nod, blond hair waving about his handsome face, and watched as Elrond left him there to disappear down the distant hidden stair they had just climbed.

Calming himself with a deep breath, Glorfindel turned back to face the low, arched door. He knocked. The door moved inward with the movement, and so Glorfindel shrugged his broad shoulders and ducked within.

He found himself in an open area – not too large – but with a high, vaulted ceiling of curving beams of a light, honey colored wood. Seeing the shape of the room now, he realized which tower this was. He saw it most often when he was in the north garden and had occasionally wondered what exactly it held within, but had never discovered the way. Now he knew. To his right was a strictly kept office area, with shelves of books and clean rugs. A large wardrobe stood against the far wall and one of its four doors was open, revealing a plethora of long, dark robes of dull, or deep grays and browns and blacks spilling out of it. Before this, a dust-free desk with carefully stacked papers concealed a gently sloping chair that looked quite comfortable. One other chair, rarely used he suspected, sat alone against the wall, and Glorfindel felt sure that was where Elrond sat on his rare visits. He could envision it now: his Lord calling upon the Chief Counselor about some trivial manner and Erestor rolling his eyes as he let the curious half-Elf within this distant room. And yet for all the civilized order there in the living space to his right, the left side of the room was another matter completely.

Sunlight blazed in from the narrow windows in slender shafts of gold, falling upon the blankets. Blankets, a great collection of them, were strewn in a corner, one piled atop another as though a laundry room had been abandoned. But many of them were torn or worn or shredded. Numerous pillows there had been also, but most of them had been clawed to nothing and cotton stuffing and bunches of feathers lay about in evidence of this. There was other furniture there once, but everything on the left side of the room had been smashed to splinters, laying in heaps like delicate bird skeletons abandoned by some predator.

The obvious division of the room struck Glorfindel abruptly and had he wanted to speak, he would not have been able to find his voice in those moments.

After a few calming breaths, he searched the room once more, certain that Erestor was here somewhere.

And looking closer at that heap of blankets . . . well, he supposed he might call it a nest, he saw that Erestor lay there, sprawled upon his ‘bed’ in his immaculate robes, today a darker sienna lined in gray and brown and blue. Long black hair was straight and unbound. Gold eyes regarded him coldly.

Glorfindel cleared his throat. “I am glad to finally find you, Erestor.”

Erestor’s voice was that low rumble, confident and cold. “Elrond has broken a promise to me.”

“Perhaps because you were not entirely truthful with him,” Glorfindel quietly retorted.

Erestor’s voice became a cruel growl. “Perhaps you are overstepping your bounds, Lord Counselor.”

The manner of this address and the matter of these words seemed like a physical blow to Glorfindel, and he staggered back, practically falling against the door as he leant heavily upon the cane. But he did not stand down. “I have sought you for many days, Erestor. Since I could walk, I’ve been scouring the halls and all the corners and crannies of Imladris for you. But you’ve been avoiding me and I wish to know why.”

Erestor glared. “Can you not guess?”

Glorfindel took a step forward and Erestor immediately leapt to his feet, slinking sideways away from the nest toward the other half of the room. But Glorfindel moved quickly until he backed Erestor nearly against the far wall, on neither one side of the room nor the other, but in the middle. “I told you in the recent past,” Glorfindel told him in a whisper, “that you had no need to deny your nature. Not with me. You can be who you are, Erestor. And that sentiment has not changed since I fell in love with you.”

Gold eyes blinked fearfully.

Glorfindel softly smiled. “I threw the apple seeds into the fire, do you remember?”

Erestor managed a small, nervous nod.

“The apple seeds told me you loved me.”

Erestor shook his head in denial. “I don’t know what love is,” Erestor ground out, again trying to move toward his desk.

Glorfindel stepped to the side and a bit closer, refusing to let him escape. “I think you do,” he disagreed in a buttery soft voice with undertones of rumbling desire. “I think you know precisely what love is. I think you know exactly how you feel about me and it frightens you, because you frighten yourself. You’ve never done this before, have you?” Glorfindel pressed, stepping even closer.

Frightened indeed, Erestor edged away, this time seeking refuge toward his nest. “Of course I haven’t,” he agreed in a hiss, fierce eyes regarding him intently. “Do you know nothing of wolves?”

“Very little,” Glorfindel willingly acknowledged, not letting the change of subject throw him. “Tell me of them,” he curiously pressed.

“Wolves are social animals,” Erestor confided, again stepping backward, away from his friend. “They do much better in groups than solitary. But some do prefer to be alone. They’ve no need for anyone else.”

“I see,” Glorfindel allowed, following Erestor’s movement.

“They are very territorial animals,” Erestor warned him. “They wouldn’t let just anyone in their domain.”

“I understand,” Glorfindel soberly nodded, leaning his cane against the wall.

“There’s one more thing you need to know about wolves,” Erestor said, his voice trembling, though he stood his ground, refusing to move back any further.

Glorfindel pulled the fibula from his mantle, letting both the cape and gold pin fall to the floor as he took a step closer. “What is it?”

A heartbeat of silence filled the room.

Erestor’s eyes were wide and deep, his expression open and fearful. His voice was soft, “They mate for life.”

“Oh?” Glorfindel asked, pulling at the rounded collar of his doublet and pushing away the shirt, indicating the bite mark there where neck met shoulder. “What’s this then?”

“A claim,” Erestor told him.

“That mean I’m yours?”

For a minute, Erestor only stared. But then he nodded, whispering, “There could never be any other, not for me. I chose you long ago.”

Glorfindel’s breath caught as he took another step forward. “Does that mean you want me?”

Erestor gulped. He nodded again.

“Does that mean you love me?’

Erestor blinked, gold eyes flashing. “Yes,” he admitted. “I love you, Glorfindel.”

“And you know now that I return that love, right?”

Nervously, Erestor nodded, stumbling backward as Glorfindel approached. “O-o-o-okay,” he stuttered.

“Good,” Glorfindel said easily, stepping so that only the barest column of air separated their bodies. Both were breathing heavily. Glorfindel smiled invitingly. “You can touch me.”

Erestor took a shuddering breath.

Glorfindel laughed slightly and his grin widened, “You can touch me if you want.”

Erestor raised a cautious hand; it hovered beside Glorfindel’s arm. His lip quavered and his breath shuddered. “I’m afraid.”

“That’s alright,” Glorfindel soothed, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “What are you afraid of?”

“Hurting you.” That was easy to admit, but then he whispered, “hurting myself.”

Glorfindel nodded. “That’s understandable. But Erestor, I’m a Balrog-Slayer. You can’t hurt me, not really. And if there’s anything I can do to prove my love for you, then I’ll do it. I won’t hurt you, Erestor. Not on purpose, never on purpose.”

Erestor nodded. “I understand.” His hand still hovered uncertainly in the air and he seemed to sway forward and back, as if wanting to kiss the golden Elf and then thinking better of it.

“Erestor,” Glorfindel whispered, leaning up to hiss into that long, pointed ear, “I want to be your mate.”

Erestor’s nostrils flared and his flashing eyes narrowed.

Glorfindel shifted back, smiling at the feral expression. He leaned in to whisper in the other ear. “I love what you do to me. I love what you make me feel.”

He stepped back to more seriously regard his mate. “Erestor?”

“. . . Yes?”

“I want to live here with you. I want to curl up with you in that nest every night. I want to share every meal. I want to spar with you in the Pit and sit with you in the library. I want to hold your hand underneath the table at staff meetings.” Glorfindel’s smile was as blinding as the sun when he stepped forward to affectionately, erotically lick those parted lips. “Do you want what I want?”

Erestor’s eyes fell shut, hiding the depth of emotion there. He nodded.

“Can we curl up in that nest right now?”

“Yes,” Erestor said.

“Good. Are we finished with words for now?”

Erestor opened mischievous eyes, smiled enigmatically, and did not answer, instead encircling Glorfindel in his arms and pulling him down with him onto the blankets.

Glorfindel laughed as they fell into the pile of pillows and covers, Glorfindel landing atop the wondering Maia-Elf. He laughed again and then took his mate’s mouth, groaning when Erestor rolled them over and began pulling at the ribbons of Glorfindel’s points and the buckles on his doublet. Glorfindel easily slipped Erestor out of his layers of robes and it was not long before they both lay panting and naked, sunk into the warmth of the blankets.

Fully regrown, that furry black tail wrapped around them both, soft as a rabbit’s pelt and Glorfindel lovingly stroked the furry tuft that waved slowly back and forth between them.

They held each other and looked into one another’s eyes. Glorfindel smiled and plucked a white feather from Erestor’s dark hair.

Erestor grinned, an expression of joy and amusement that Glorfindel had yet to see on that beautiful face, and Erestor blew the downy feather away. It danced in the rays of the late morning sun with the dust motes that filled the attic air.

Golden eyes watched the tiny white feather float away and slip out the open window. Then they focused on the brilliant blue eyes before him. Erestor whispered, “Can I . . . ask something of you?”

“Of course,” Glorfindel told him with a kiss to the flat nose. “Of course, my love.”

Erestor’s eyes were serious. He touched the forever scar of the bite wound on Glorfindel’s shoulder, a dusky mark that resembled a flower if you looked at it in the right light. “Will you mark me? As I marked you?” His long fingers moved up to touch Glorfindel’s claw-scarred cheek. “Will you claim me? As I claimed you?”

Glorfindel’s own blue eyes flared with an intense twining of love and lust. He bent his golden head to teethe at Erestor’s collarbone. He whispered against the skin. “Of course, love.”

“A mark that won’t fade.”

“Never,” he agreed as Erestor pulled the extravagant blue ribbon to release the short lion’s mane of hair that shone like spun gold. The dark Elf tangled long fingers in that hair and pulled Glorfindel to him.

They began thrusting lazily together, rubbing hot and hard shafts between taut bellies. Glorfindel teased the skin at Erestor’s shoulder and Erestor moved that mouth toward his neck. “Higher.”

Glorfindel reached down to grasp Erestor’s pulsing shaft in a strong hand, slick from the sweat that grew between them. Erestor’s eyes flashed open and he called out in a singing scream. Glorfindel licked fervently at the joint of neck and shoulder.

“Higher.”

Nipping at the jugular now, Glorfindel moaned and gripped Erestor’s shaft harder.

“Higher,” Erestor whined.

Glorfindel teethed the side of his neck. “People will see,” he murmured against the heating flesh.

Erestor pulled back, as much as he was able, to meet dilated blue eyes. “I want them to.”

Letting out a whimpering moan, Glorfindel attacked the salt-sweet skin with renewed vigor and Erestor threw back his head, tossing black hair and clawing at Glorfindel’s golden skin. “Do it!” he screamed. “Mark me!”

Glorfindel was breathing hard. It would hurt; he knew that from his own experience. But he wanted to do it. He wanted this.

He breathed.

And again, a sharp inhale.

A third breath, in a growl to build up his courage.

Erestor heard that wild sound and then he felt sharp teeth against his throat. He bucked up into Glorfindel’s hand like a stallion and clawed furiously at the strong, golden body.

Then the wet mouth opened against the soft flesh just beneath his jaw and even, white teeth sunk into his skin. Glorfindel attached himself to Erestor’s neck beneath his ear, biting hard and merciless, drawing blood even as his tongue swiped at that bit of flesh.

Erestor went still. He sucked in a breath of air, and then he came, thrusting and howling and clawing in a brief, feral frenzy of pleasure and pain and belonging. His body continued straining and pumping as he clutched madly to the one atop him, wheezing in his attempts to regain his breath. “That was,” he whimpered. “That was perfect.” He stared in amazement to the ceiling. And a slight smile curved the edges of his mouth, revealing the tiny white fangs as he panted out his breaths. Then, a limpness filled his body, and Glorfindel just held him in those moments, watching the expression of wonder and awe on the perfect, beautiful face.

“Beautiful,” the blond Elf suddenly whispered, not knowing he had done so.  
 Erestor turned to him in suspicious surprise, knowing how odd he was in appearance, how different. Not Elven. Not really. “Beautiful?” the dark Elf asked. “I believe you are the only one to think so.”

“Then I am the only one who is not a fool,” Glorfindel rumbled, his voice heavy with want, his eyes bright with desire, his lips parted and full and darkly bruised from their attack on Erestor’s neck, where the red flesh bloomed the fresh teeth marks.

Erestor trembled.

Glorfindel shook his head at the expression of awe on that handsome face. “You seem . . . shocked, Erestor.”

“I am shocked,” the Maia-Elf murmured in agreement, meeting those impassioned blue eyes. “I had already accepted long ago that I would be living out all of my life alone.” He tenderly brushed the mussed hair from before Glorfindel’s face. “Now everything is changed.”

Glorfindel’s smile turned wicked. “Aye. For the better, I hope.”

“Yes, for the better,” Erestor agreed, leaning up to kiss those tempting lips. When he pulled back, the golden eyes were half-closed and his breathing quickened. “Now, claim me, my Glorfindel.” His own fanged grin turned feral. “Make me yours completely, as you are mine.”

The words, the smile, those wolfish golden eyes were fuel to the fire of Glorfindel’s lust: a suddenly furious force. “Oh, I will,” he snarled. “I will indeed. Make no mistake.”

And he set to feasting upon the tall, pale creature before him; as if the very sweat from Erestor’s hot skin was a god’s delicacy, Glorfindel seemed to have decided to taste every last bit of that skin, his teeth tugging at a pointed ear, his lips pinching at a dusky nipple, his tongue dragging across the dip of a navel.

All this sensation resulted in some very interesting sounds from Erestor, mostly incomprehensible whines and soft little ‘uh’s and ‘ah’s that rung in the rafters of the tall room, and spurred Glorfindel on to a more hasty, violent feasting. He took Erestor’s reviving member into his mouth, biting nearly to the point of pain and holding still the narrow hips beneath him. He teased the pale-dark Elf beneath him to a state of ardent need and incomprehensible desire. Then he released the captive in his mouth, moving up to kiss along every scar on that strong, pale body. Glorfindel remembered when he had first seen the patchwork of scars while camping on a riverbank not all that long ago.

Erestor shuddered beneath him and tried to move his restrained hips. “Do you mean to drive me mad before you take me?” he asked in heaving gasps.

Glorfindel smiled viciously. “There is nothing more beautiful to my eyes, Erestor, than driving you mad with lust.”

With hitched breaths, Erestor’s hands trembled as he grasped the tanned shoulders above him, his tail flailing wildly in uncontrollable abandon.

Glorfindel grinned at the sight and swiped away the wetness from Erestor’s abdomen, smearing it on his own hardness. “On your knees,” he suddenly commanded, pulling away.

Erestor growled, but hurried to obey, turning about on the blankets and parting his legs in offering as his tail deftly wound about Glorfindel’s waist to draw him close.

Finding that move so insensibly erotic, Glorfindel eagerly moved between the spread knees, touching Erestor everywhere and kissing his back and closing his bright blue eyes to better savor the sensation.

Whining in frustration, Erestor moved back, pushing against him. “Must I beg?”

Glorfindel shook his head, not that Erestor could see it. The golden warrior was beyond words as his hand teased along the line of an arched back to the crevice where he carefully felt along the tender skin.

“Just do it,” Erestor demanded harshly. “Take me now!”

If Glorfindel had any objections, they fled at the sight of Erestor bowed on knees and elbows before him. Grinning wickedly, Glorfindel carefully aligned himself and slowly began to enter the tight heat, moving so carefully, so slowly, as if he might break the vessel if he filled it too quickly.

Erestor disapproved.  
 Glorfindel was shocked when that tail tightened about his waist and pulled him forward like a driving piston. Sunk into velvet heat, he trembled at the feel of it. Erestor whined with pain, but held him close with that soft tail. Words spilled from thin, reddened lips. Perhaps they were, ‘take me hard’ or just ‘yes yes yes.’ Glorfindel wasn’t really listening and Erestor wasn’t really coherent.

And it was obvious the pain pleased Erestor as much as the pleasure, so Glorfindel moved mercilessly within him. Crooning with pleasure, he claimed what was his with a ruthless force: bruising fingers and scratching teeth and primitive growls as his powerful flanks pushed Erestor’s thrashing body further into the blankets with every forceful thrust.

The tail was tight as taut rope around Glorfindel’s strong waist and Erestor’s hands clawed the blankets with fierce recklessness as he moved. “I’m yours!” he cried breathlessly, every muscle straining in waves of ecstasy.

“Yes,” Glorfindel huffed in oblivious response.

“Say it!” Erestor pleaded, tears falling from bright golden eyes.

“Mine,” Glorfindel growled, clutching Erestor closer in needy hands as he pounded into the strong body beneath him.

Erestor’s eyes fell shut and his fists clenched, his tail gripped suddenly harder like a strangling snake and his back arched as his whole body sung with pleasure. With a screaming howl, he pulled Glorfindel to him and he came with a previously unknown force, driving and primeval and possessed and full of love.

Seeing and hearing and feeling this, Glorfindel could not help but follow, forcing himself into his mate as deep as he could go. A baying yowl sounded from his lips as he spent himself within Erestor’s shuddering body, and together they tumbled into a collapsed heap in the blankets and pillows.

***

Erestor sucked in a sudden breath of air and Glorfindel opened his eyes to see what was the matter. “I’ll never hide from you,” Erestor suddenly said, even as he was squished beneath Glorfindel’s not insubstantial weight. “And maybe, maybe you can help me find a balance.”

Glorfindel gently smiled and nudged Erestor over until he lay on his back, and Glorfindel settled comfortably atop him between Erestor’s long legs. He still grinned down, the light of stars in his twinkling blue eyes. “Yes,” Glorfindel agreed. “You’ll be my Counselor and my wolf, Erestor. We can do that.”

Erestor smiled, neither feral nor tame, and he began to purr. His look was full of adoration and devotion. “I love you.”

***

The End

***

“In each of us, two natures are at war -- the good and the evil.  
All our lives, the fight goes on between them, and one of them must conquer.  
But in our own hands lies the power to choose -- what we want most to be, we are.”  
\--R. L. Stevenson


End file.
